Dark Secret
by Beregond5
Summary: Thranduil's duties as a king become harder as the Necromancer covers the forest of Mirkwood in darkness. And things get worse when he will have to face the fear of losing his son.
1. Prologue

**[…] But there was in Thranduil's heart a still deeper shadow. He had seen the horror of Mordor and could not forget it. If ever he looked south its memory dimmed the light of the Sun, and though he knew that it was now broken and deserted and under the vigilance of the Kings of Men, fear spoke in his heart that it was not conquered for ever: it would arise again.**

**(J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, p. 336)**

* * *

There are many among the Eldar who believe that the Valar have long forsaken us, not wishing to interfere in the matters of Arda anymore. My father, however, was of the few who considered such notion nonsense. He often told me, time and time again, that the Valar talk to us constantly. That one could hear the Lord of the Waters speak if they listened to the murmurs of the river, understand Manwë's bidding by looking up at his very servants, the birds; or savour Elbereth's love for all living things whenever they gazed upon her creations, the stars. All one had to do was open their mind and heart, and they would indeed understand.

That was what I had trained myself to do as well, under my father's guidance. And what was revealed to me, on the day I came of age no less, was of such unspeakable beauty that I allowed myself to become part of it - much like my father had.

But then I grew up to realise that there are other whispers as well. Seductive words offering knowledge and power when, in reality, they lure anyone unfortunate - or, I should say, foolish - to ruin. I witnessed their subtle work long ago. I saw elven-lords give chase to material things and watched men become greedy, all of them seeking more and more and even backstab one another to have it all Yet I believed, in the innocence of my young age, that those deeds of the past were merely that: deeds of the past, remembered so that they should not be repeated in the future.

But then, a man's claim to the One Ring, wishing it as an 'heirloom', proved me false again. Worse, it made our war for freedom pointless and my father's – and so many others' - death meaningless. For through the One Ring, Sauron himself survived; he always would as long as the foul thing existed. Though there were people amongst us wise enough to foresee that, none gave heed to our fears and sense of foreboding. Everyone preferred to celebrate the Evil One's defeat, believing that peace would be everlasting.

How I wish we were wrong and they on the right; but now it seems our fears have become true once more. Even without the power of a Great Ring, I can sense malice stirring, becoming stronger every day that goes by and coming closer into the haven which I had hoped would protect my people. Dark Arts have made the river dangerous, Arien has stopped casting her magnificent warmth and light into these parts of the world, and the kind animals have fled to be replaced with loathsome creatures, filled with the malignancy of their master. And then, the first elves fell, leaving us with nothing else to do but mourn them… my own wife amongst them.

Even now, everyone within the realm turns to me to guide them and help them, just as they did when the king before me, my father, was lost. Little do they understand that patrols can only do that much, no matter how many I send out. And that only makes me come to terms with the truth that I had been unwilling to face for so long: that my people will have to fight against Sauron's evil again.

Where lies the problem is: will I have the strength to fight it this time?


	2. A Breath Of Wind

Eregdos parried another one of the young Elf's attacks, then jumped back to avoid a second hit before smiling approvingly.

"Good," he said. "Your hits are becoming much more precise."

The young Elf, Brethil, smiled at the praise and attempted to attack Eregdos again. Eregdos, however, was Lord Thranduil's seneschal and swordmaster for a very good reason. He gracefully sidestepped, his eyes never leaving his young trainee. He didn't even allow himself to be distracted by the young elves who had gathered around in a wish to see the outcome of the match. Whenever he fought, whether in earnest or otherwise, Eregdos always kept his focus on his adversary.

Pity he couldn't say the same about Brethil. Though the trainee was a fast learner and had managed to learn a lot in barely a year, he was still prone to carelessness. Such as… now. In a flash, Eregdos took advantage of the opening presented to him and knocked Brethil off his feet. Brethil cried out in surprise as he suddenly found himself sprawled on the ground, but attempted to stand up once more. That is, if it weren't for the point of Eregdos's sword resting on his chest.

"Your defence is a different matter entirely. Do you know what your mistake was?"

Brethil nodded. "I was too eager to charge."

"Precisely," Eregdos replied. "Do not quail in the face of battle, but do not treat it as a light matter either. Fight with your heart, but your mind should always be in control of your body, disciplining it. Never stop thinking. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Eregdos, the young Elf said.

"Excellent." Eregdos looked up at the other trainees. "Let your friend's lesson be a lesson to you as well. You will need it when the time comes to face an enemy." With that, he sheathed his sword back in its scabbard, declaring the end of the sparring session. "You're dismissed."

The young elves obeyed, talking amongst themselves as they headed off to attend to their other chores. Meanwhile, Eregdos offered a helpful hand to Brethil so that the latter would get back on his feet.

"You're not hurt, I hope?" Eregdos asked. The training was over for the present, and though the seneschal could be harsh at times, it didn't mean he was cruel.

"Only my pride is hurt, Master Eregdos," Brethil answered. "I wished to prove my worth to you and I acted rashly instead."

"That was your second mistake, though I did not wish to speak of it openly," Eregdos said. "You have the makings of a fine warrior, Brethil. But a warrior's purpose is to protect above all else. Do not throw yourself to your enemy. Save your strength and be there for you fellow warrior, assisting him." He patted the young Elf on the shoulder, a sad smile crossing his features. "As cynical as that will sound, you're worth more alive rather than dead." He looked around him, his gaze drifting towards the tall trees that towered over them. "Especially in these dark times."

Brethil bit his lower lip, aware of what Eregdos was talking about. "My brother returned from his patrol yesterday. He said that they found a spider's nest a few miles south from here."

Eregdos wasn't in the least surprised. "Evil is becoming bolder, spreading its webs farther and farther," he said.

"But, surely, there's a way to fight it back?" the young Elf asked hopefully. "We can't allow it to trample in our world unpunished."

"If only it were that simple," Eregdos replied in a rueful tone. "The enemy moves stealthily, taking His time to get what he considers His. All we can do is predict His moves and counterattack Him."

The sound of someone clearing their throat cut off into the Elves' conversation, and both Eregdos and Brethil turned around. Seeing the proud, wizened elf approaching them, the young trainee instantly bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest – a gesture of respect.

The newcomer nodded at Brethil, acknowledging his presence, and then faced Eregdos. "Am I interrupting?"

"No, I have finished my training duties for today," Eregdos answered. "What is it, Edrahil?"

"I have a message from Lord Thranduil," Edrahil replied. "There is news of an Orc scouting team on the west side of Mirkwood."

Eregdos stiffened. "How many of them?"

"About a score, give or take," Edrahil said. "Apparently, they are moving southward, intending to meet the main party close to Dol Guldur."

"Very well," Eregdos said. "Inform Lord Thranduil that I will send a patrol to investigate matters further."

"And that is the only thing they should do," Edrahil said. "Lord Thranduil said that those Orks are armed to the teeth. We don't need any conflicts."

"I understand," Eregdos said. "Thank you, Edrahil."

Edrahil didn't say anything else. He simply bowed his head in farewell and walked away, wishing attend to his other duties. Eregdos looked at Brethil, curious at the sight his trainee presented; the young Elf was still staring in the direction Edrahil left, his eyes filled with wonder.

"I assume this is the first time you've seen Lord Thranduil's advisor," Eregdos said.

"Yes, sir… From so close, I mean," Brethil replied. "Is it true what they say about him? That he served Finrod Felagund?"

"You can ask him next time that you see him," Eregdos said, his lips tugging to a half-smile. "Now go to the barracks and find Calen. Tell him I wish to speak with him."

"Yes, Master Eregdos," Brethil said, and he set off as fast as his feet could carry him. He stopped midway when he realised something important, however, and he faced Eregdos in confusion.

"Master Eregdos… How did Lord Thranduil know that the Orcs were so heavily armed?"

Eregdos's smile broadened. "He has his ways," he replied, and left it at that.

* * *

Thranduil was outside, sitting cross-legged in the centre of a small clearing amidst the tall trees. He kept his eyes closed, while his ears picked up even the faintest of sounds. The gentle rustling of the leaves, the soft pattering of the last woodland creatures within the forest of Mirkwood, even the faint sound of running water was soothing for the elvenking. It was only natural that he wanted to seek solace here whenever he wished to think with a clear mind. And, if he was deeply troubled, he knew that this was ideal place to seek advice as well.

"Father?"

Thranduil opened his eyes and turned around, his cerulean-coloured eyes locking with his son's almost identical ones.

"Legolas." Thranduil stood up with the flawless ease that was characteristic of all Elves. "Is something amiss?"

"I heard about the Orc scouting team," the young prince replied. "Is it true?"

"Yes, it is," Thranduil replied. "They have been leaving their mark on every tree they pass."

Legolas's features clouded into a frown. "This is the first time that they have ventured so close to our realm."

"I'm aware of it," Thranduil said. "That is why I have decided to send a patrol to spy on them. We need to know what they're up to."

"They're probably trying to find any openings on our defences," Legolas suggested. "Should we allow that?"

"Only for the present," Thranduil answered. "Our defences are by no means impregnable, but we can give the Enemy a false sense of security. If they decide to attempt a full frontal assault, we'll be prepared for them."

"But will we be able to drive them back?" Legolas asked. "The Enemy is receiving more reinforcements with each passing day, whereas our own numbers only grow less."

Thranduil sighed inwardly. He knew perfectly where his son was heading with this kind of conversation. "Do you wish to make the same request of me?"

"Indeed," Legolas replied with a nod. "Won't you let me ride to Imladris and meet Elrond Halfelven?"

"He has burdens of his own," Thranduil said. "Orcs have been located near his own realm, too. He cannot send the kind of reinforcements that you hope for."

"Then let me ride out to seek his advice," Legolas said.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that my own judgement is flawed, my son?"

"Never. I meant no disrespect," Legolas answered sincerely. "But Master Elrond is wise. His own insight into the matter could be helpful to us."

"I fear that he will tell you nothing different from what I have already told you," Thranduil said, shaking his head. "Nevertheless, if this means so much to you, I can promise you this: Go and patrol the eastern area today. If your news is good and the territory is clear of danger, then you may ride to Imladris."

"A fair arrangement," Legolas said, bowing his head in respect. "Thank you, Father."

"Do not thank me yet," the Elvenking replied, smiling a bit. "I will be expecting your report in three days' time. Only then will I decide what is to be done. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Legolas answered, nodding once again, and let Thranduil be. Thranduil watched his son go and, before he could help it, his smile broadened; for a familiar and welcome sensation brushed his side.

_He is quite grown. His resemblance to you is also uncanny._

"Yet he has his mother's obstinacy," Thranduil answered, hearing the words like a breath of wind close to his ear.

_Only his mother's?_

"I was never that stubborn," Thranduil objected.

_True. You were worse,_ the soft voice replied in a mild teasing tone. _Yet look at you now, tall and proud as it is fitting to one of our bloodline._

"It is a burden that I wouldn't have been able to carry if it weren't for your careful and patient guidance," Thranduil answered. "A son could ask no more of his father."

_And yet you're still troubled._

Thranduil bowed his head. "Indeed I am. Sauron is rising again, Father."

_Evil always has a way of finding its way back into the world._ The words echoed in Thranduil's mind and he closed his eyes when the warm sensation, very much like a hand this time, caressed his face. _You have to hold it off your realm for as long as you can. You know this._

"I do," Thranduil answered, leaning unwittingly to the touch. "But I still remember what happened to Doriath."

_I remember it too, the voice in the wind said. I was there, Thranduil._

"Yes…" the Elvenking whispered. He grew silent for a moment. "It managed to break Mother's heart beyond repair."

_Your mother was strong, never doubt that,_ Oropher's voice ringing through the air. _But Doriath was her home, and she was torn violently away from it. She could no longer find solace in these lands._

"Even if she were with you? Or me?"

_Even then, though she loved us both,_ Oropher's voice answered. _She still waits for you to join her across the sea._

"I haven't heard the Call yet," Thranduil pointed out. "Even if I had, I have much to attend to."

_Indeed you do_, the voice said._ And, unless I'm much mistaken, you will be needed soon._

Thranduil frowned at those words. "What are you trying to warn me of, Father?"

_Nay, I've said enough,_ the voice replied. The warm sensation surrounded Thranduil as if he was embraced. _Stay strong, my son. And never forget what I have taught you._

With that, Oropher's fëa was gone. Thranduil remained under the tree for many long moments, troubled by his father's parting words, but, in the end, all he could do was retire underground. He walked slowly towards the gates, greeting the guard that was standing there, and he waited patiently for the locks to open. As soon as the doorsparted, Thranduil stepped inside and then continued down towards his study, intending to immerse himself in his work.

* * *

Legolas leapt nimbly to another tree, sure that its branches would hold his weight. Elves were light creatures, after all, even able to walk on snow without leaving a trace of their footmarks. He let his gaze drift in all directions, keeping on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, but, so far, things looked good. If fortune was on his side and the eastern path was indeed clear, perhaps he would be able to ride to Imladris just as his father had promised.

He continued on his way, aware that his companions weren't far behind as they all continued on their patrol, and only stopped when he caught sight of a clearing. The place looked beautiful, the sunlight bathing it dotingly in spite of the darkness that had been spreading in the last years. Even so, Legolas knew he couldn't take any chances. He pricked up his ears and listened carefully to his surroundings.

Nothing but the rustling of the leaves. Legolas supposed that it was safe for him and his team to have a short rest before resuming with their patrol; they had already been travelling for many hours. So, he jumped down onto the ground and signalled to the others to come down as well. A few moments later, twelve more elves appeared, their bows in hand.

"We'll stop here for the present. Magor, Fileg, stay guards at the perimeter of he clearing; you'll be notified when we'll move on again."

Both elves nodded their understanding, and they saw to their duties at once. Everyone else simply relaxed and sat on the ground, conversing among themselves. Legolas, on the other hand, stood at the edge of the clearing and opened his travelling pouch to have some lembas and think over the conversation he had had with his father.

He had meant it when he had said that he had faith in his father's judgement. However, Legolas also believed that this kind of evil that surrounded these woods, tainting them, was powerful. Too powerful for the Mirkwood Elves to withstand it alone, in fact. Legolas understood his father's reluctance to ask help from Elrond Halfelven, but he had also heard certain whispers. Several dissatisfied elves claimed that his father's grudge against Master Elrond prevented the Elvenking to see reason, an accusation founded on the terrible losses the Mirkwood Elves had suffered in the battle of Dagorlad. That was also why Legolas wished to go to Imladris. If the Mirkwood Elves heard that the king had sent his son to Imladris to speak with Master Elrond, it would stop tongues from wagging too much. More importantly, though, Legolas was grateful that his father _was_ willing to trust him this task in spite of his reservations, and he didn't want to fail him.

Just then, the sound of a blackbird cut into Legolas's thoughts, alarming him. He knew the woods like the back of his hand, and he also knew that the _real _blackbirds abandoned the particular place long ago. That could only mean either Magor or Fileg had detected danger.

Legolas didn't lose any time. He turned to his companions and he waved at them the signal to hide at the bushes nearby. In the meantime, he let out a bird-like call of his own, notifying Magor and Fileg that they should do the same, and then vanished behind the bushes as well.

Not a moment too soon. He picked up the sound of twigs breaking under heavy weight, and the malicious roars and cries that could only belong to Orcs reached the elves' ears. Legolas clenched his jaw and pressed himself as close to the ground as possible, waiting with bated breath for the foul creatures to appear.

Finally, after what felt like centuries, the Orcs stepped out into the clearing. They seemed to be in a merry mood, if their toothy grins were any indication. Then again, Legolas could never be sure when it came to Orcs. For all the elven prince knew, they could even be snarling at each other; that seemed a more likely probability. On the bright side, they didn't look like they intended to stop in the clearing. They simply moved on, oblivious to everything and everyone as they defiled every tree they passed by with their knives. The elves simply had to wait a little while longer, and then they would be able to step out without fear.

Luck wasn't on their side. Before the Orcs left the clearing, the wind shifted to their direction, and the band stopped. The leader sniffed the air loudly once… twice… then a bellow of wrath rang through the air as he gave the signal to attack. Not seeing any other option left in them, the elves sprang out of their hiding place, firing their arrows at their foes. Legolas hardly remained idle. He unsheathed his knives, and he started slashing every hapless Orc that stood in his way.

It was a brave, but futile effort. The first band of Orcs was soon joined by a second one that heard the clamour of battle, and the elves couldn't fight them all. Legolas watched in horror as Calen, his childhood friend, was the first one to fall, then Magor and Fileg… until he was the only elf alive and still fighting.

Even so, Legolas didn't give up. If he was going to die, he was going to take as many Orcs with him as possible. His knives slashed every Orc with such speed that the blades were barely visible; he parried attacks and blows with the strength of a bear.

It all came to naught when one of the Orcs managed to tackle Legolas from behind. Legolas cried out in surprise and struggled to get back on his feet, but more Orcs charged at him, pinning him down. And then, as another blow fell near his temple, the dark veil of unconsciousness covered his sight and he knew nothing more.

* * *

Thranduil froze, the document he was holding almost slipping from his fingers. It was strange, but a sense of dread had washed through him, powerful and yet so brief it was as if he had imagined things. But that couldn't be the case, could it?

He sat up and closed his eyes, concentrating. He could distinctly hear the rustling of the leaves like ripples of water surging through him, and he could tell that the trees were agitated, even angry. The Elvenking realised that the trees were upset because of Orcs passing by. But, when he also realised that those ripples came from the trees in the East, where Legolas was meant to patrol, the Elvenking felt all his blood draining from him. He stood up at once and rushed to the door, opening it forcefully.

"Edrahil!" Thranduil said, catching sight of the healer. "Rally every available warrior and head to the East! Hurry!"

Knowing better than to question his king, Edrahil nodded and saw to the order at once.

* * *

Thranduil paced up and down the main hall, keeping his jaw clenched. Edrahil was there with him, watching his every move in thought, but the Elvenking couldn't bring himself to care about this scrutiny. What he wanted was to hear was any news concerning his son's patrol.

"They should have been here by now."

"Indeed, they should," Edrahil said. "Yet you cannot help your son while you're in such a state of panic, my liege."

Thranduil regarded his advisor with a raised eyebrow. "That is the oddest advice you have yet given me. What do you mean?"

Edrahil sighed. "When Legolas is in the face of danger, your decisions aren't rational. You should remain focused and calm, so you can truly offer him the best help you can."

"He is my son, Edrahil," Thranduil pointed out.

"Precisely."

Understanding, Thranduil decided to indulge the older Elf and he finally sat on his throne.

"Is this the kind of advice that you used to give Finrod Felagund?" he asked, perhaps not as curtly as he would have liked.

"If it were necessary," Edrahil replied, not all that concerned about the king's tone.

"And did he listen?"

"Hardly, my lord," Edrahil answered candidly. "If anything, some things didn't change in this lifetime either."

Thranduil wasn't sure if it was Edrahil's actual intention to try and help him release some of the built-up tension, nevertheless it seemed to help matters. The Elvenking even managed to smile a bit, and a spark of hope ignited in his heart. Perhaps everything would turn out quite fine.

His hope died out when the door to the Hall opened and one of his scouts entered. His step was burdened, and he seemed unable to look the king in the eyes.

Thranduil stood up, controlling his emotions and his racing heart. "Speak, Cadwor. I assure you, your silence is more agonising than any news you try to hide from me."

Though Cadwor nodded his understanding, he still averted his eyes as he spoke. "We found the remnants of a skirmish. It was a fierce fight, and the Orcs outnumbered the patrol. None of our kin stood a chance."

Thranduil swallowed hard. "They've all perished?"

"Yes, Sire," Cadwor answered. "Our captain and the others remained behind so they would give our fallen comrades a proper burial."

"And Legolas?" the elvenking asked.

Cadwor bit his lower lip, hesitating for a moment. In the end, though, he held up a broken bow in his trembling hands. "I'm sorry, Sire."

Thranduil took a step back, reaching for his chair to use as support, for the sight was almost overwhelming. He recognised that bow, and he knew that it was Legolas'.

"Are you saying he's slain as well?" Edrahil asked at that moment, looking hard at Cadwor.

"He must be," Cadwor answered. "But we haven't found his body as of yet."

_What?_ Thranduil felt his eyes widening, and he immediately walked up to Cadwor. "Are you certain of this?" he asked, grabbing the young elf from the shoulders. "You've only found the bow?"

"Yes, Sire," Cadwor replied, confused.

"Then we cannot know for certain," Thranduil mused aloud before looking up at the young elf again. "Go find your captain. Tell him that Legolas must be found, alive or dead. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire," Cadwor said, nodding.

"Then go," Thranduil said, "As fast as your legs can carry you."

Cadwor understood. Turning on his heel, he exited the Hall to carry the message. Edrahil and Thranduil watched the young elf disappear out of sight, and then the advisor regarded Thranduil curiously.

"Do you believe Legolas is alive?"

"Yes," Thranduil answered. "But I do not know for how long."

_TBC..._


	3. A Father's Will

A whole day passed, and the elven scouts found no sign of Legolas, even though they left no stone unturned in the area where the patrol had been attacked. They didn't find anything even when Thranduil ordered them to search and beyond that particular area, hoping that the Orcs that had attacked Legolas's patrol would be located. Three days later, the scouts had finally reached to a point where they could go no further in the woods without putting themselves in danger; the spiders were simply too many.

Their search had come to naught.

* * *

Thranduil sat in his throne, listening to yet another report that yielded no results, and then dismissed the scout with a weary wave of his hand. The scout left, closing the door behind him so as to leave the elvenking and his advisor alone. Neither elf spoke for many long moments. Thranduil simply hid his eyes, as if the light of the hall somehow bothered him.

"It has been three days, my lord, and now we're fast approaching the third night," Edrahil said softly, breaking the spell of silence. "The scouts have already searched everywhere."

Thranduil nodded slowly as if the motion hurt him. "I know. I have hardly slept this whole time, as you're well aware."

"Then you also know that, if they could, the scouts would have found Legolas by now," Edrahil pointed out.

"He's not dead if that's what you're suggesting, Edrahil."

"And it's not, I assure you; I've learned not to doubt your instincts," Edrahil said. "However, perhaps it is time to accept that Legolas has most probably been taken beyond our reach. Though Orcs barely travel while there's sunlight, they move swiftly in the darkness. If they haven't entered their own territory yet, they will soon."

"All the more reason we have to find him!" Thranduil said, hands clenching into fists. "I will not abandon my son!"

"At what cost? Are you willing to risk twenty or even more elves for the sake of one? They are also sons of loving parents, Sire."

Thranduil snapped his head up, glaring at Edrahil.

"Am I wrong?" the advisor asked, hardly fazed.

Thranduil opened his mouth to say - no, to _scream - _that Edrahil was wrong, but he couldn't. Unfortunately, the advisor was right. Though he was a father, he was also a king; and it wasn't in his place to think selfishly. He sank back in his throne, sighing in resignation.

"My apologies, Edrahil."

"Do not apologise, my Lord; I understand your pain," the advisor replied kindly. "And I assure you, if there is a way, we _will _bring your son back."

_If there is a way… _These words echoed in Thranduil's mind, igniting a spark of an idea. Even so, he decided against saying anything. He merely nodded instead, as if accepting the advisor's words.

Edrahil clasped Thranduil's shoulder for a brief moment in reassurance and then he walked out, too. He needed to see to other chores before retiring to his quarters.

That gave Thranduil the chance he'd been waiting for. Springing back on his feet, he hurried to his own chambers, one thought guiding him swift and sure.

He wasn't going to lose Legolas, too.

* * *

_Every breath he took was agony; his side and arm throbbed painfully as his wounds were hardly closed and he was still risking another bleeding. Even so, Thranduil ran as fast as his feet could carry him, fear and worry fuelling him with almost unprecedented strength._

Please… Please, Valar, let it not be true…

_When he finally arrived at the campsite and saw Eregdos's solemn face, though, he knew that his hopes were false. Anguish overwhelming him, he walked up immediately to his father's tent and stepped inside, only to see Oropher's lifeless body in a small make-shift stretcher._

"_Thranduil, your wounds," Elrond said, hurrying at the new elvenking's side._

_Thranduil didn't heed him though. He staggered forward, his eyes locked on his father; then collapsed over the lying body, weeping bitterly._

* * *

"_It was a snake bite, my Lord," Edrahil said ruefully. "It bit Lady Eilian's ankle hard, and she couldn't call for help. Her death was swift."_

"_And Legolas?" Thranduil asked, aghast._

"_He's unharmed, but he witnessed everything."_

_Thranduil shook his head in disbelief. Why didn't he sense the danger? Why didn't he see the signs? How did this evil come to pass without him realizing?_

"_Did you find the snake?"_

"_No, my Lord," Edrahil said. "It is as if it disappeared once its vile work was done."_

"_Indeed," Thranduil whispered, and then he looked up at his advisor, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Take me to her and my son, please."_

"_Of course, my Lord."_

* * *

Still haunted by the memories of his past, Thranduil entered his chambers hastily and knelt in front of a large trunk situated in the darkest corner of his room, all but forgotten. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder, making sure that no one saw what he was up to, and then opened the trunk to take out a bundle of travelling clothes and a long sword. The blade shone brightly as the elvenking held it in his hands, and Thranduil regarded it as if greeting someone he knew from long ago.

"Well, my old friend…" he sighed, "It appears I need you by my side again."

But Thranduil knew now wasn't the time for regrets. He got back on his feet, and he swiftly started discarding his robes. They would be of no use to him for the venture he had in mind.

* * *

Edrahil let out a weary sigh and loosened the collar of his robes. He was exhausted; there was no point in denying it to himself now. The tasks he had to carry out on a daily basis were tiring, but it was his worry for the king's son that truly wore him down. He tried to sound reasonable and calm for his lord's sake, but he also cared about the young elf. The mere notion that Legolas was in the hands of the Orcs was simply horrifying, and he couldn't help but think that perhaps he had been harsher to his lord than proper. Could he blame a father for wishing that his son were safe, after all?

It was with that thought that Edrahil decided that some kind of apology was necessary, so he took a detour and instead of going to his own dorms, he headed to the king's instead. He was certain that Thranduil would be there at this time of night.

"My Lord?" Edrahil said, and he knocked on the large oak door of Thranduil's quarters. "Lord Thranduil?"

There was no answer. Any other elf under the king's service would have supposed that the elvenking had already fallen asleep, and he shouldn't be disturbed. Edrahil, however, knew Thranduil quite well, and he knew that anxiety would have kept him quite awake; he _would _have heard that simple knock.

"My Lord?" Taking matters into his hands, Edrahil boldly reached for the handle and turned it, pushing the door open.

The sight made the elf gasp in shock. The bed wasn't slept in, the king's robes were discarded unceremoniously on the floor… and Thranduil himself was gone.

"My Lord!" Edrahil cried. His gaze drifted in every direction as though he would somehow locate Thranduil, but there was no sign of him. None, that is, except for a piece of parchment that was placed carefully on a small table nearby. Edrahil swallowed hard and picked up the note, although he wasn't sure if he wanted to read it. He already suspected its contents.

_My good Edrahil,_

_I know you acted in my best interests when you advised me not to send any more of our scouts after Legolas. I'm a king, and I must not only think about myself, but about my people as well._

_Even so… I'm still a father, and I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if something happened to my son because I didn't react fast enough. For then, my friend, I fear that I would have been of no use as a king either. What service am I expected to offer when I can't protect those whom I love the most in this world?_

_Knowing you, you are probably thinking how rashly and foolishly I acted. However, I assure you that I don't intend to leave my people to their fate. I trust you to fill in my position adequately for as long as I'm gone. And, if it's not meant for me or my son to return back to our home, then you must guide our people against the darkness that is spreading in the forest. Your wisdom and courage will not fail our people. I'm certain of that._

_May the stars shine upon you kindly, my friend._

_Thranduil, King of Mirkwood._

"Well, you are correct about one thing, my Lord," Edrahil said under his breath. "You did act rashly and foolishly."

Even so, a part of him admired Thranduil's determination. That strength of spirit could easily be matched with Finrod Felagund's and, if he didn't know any better, Edrahil would have believed that Thranduil was indeed his former lord incarnated once more.

"I simply hope you won't share his fate," the advisor mused aloud.

With that, Edrahil put the note in his pocket and walked out of the room. He needed to inform Eregdos about the particular development.

* * *

Thranduil pressed himself against the wall, and then dared a peek around the corner to see who was standing guard by the gates at this time of night. Though it was quite dark, his sharp elven sight enabled him to see the features of the young elf as clearly as if he was standing right in front of him: it was Brethil. The elvenking wasn't surprised that a young one would be handed such a task; it was part of their training, teaching them to stay alert at all times. And, by the look of things, Brethil kept his eyes quite open to his surroundings. Thranduil wouldn't be able to get past him without being noticed.

Even so, Thranduil had a few tricks up his sleeve. Placing the hood over his head, he crept as quietly as possible close to the young guard, using the shadows to his advantage. Once he deemed he was at a good enough distance, he locked his eyes on Brethil and spoke softly.

"Drooping lids, heavy limbs; let sleep carry the weary to the land of dreams."

The words barely flowed out of Thranduil's lips when Brethil lowered his head, a sign that he was swiftly nodding off. Thranduil watched with bated breath as the young Elf tried to stay awake, but the elvenking knew that it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to sleep. Indeed, a few moments later, Brethil leaned against the threshold, his eyes glazed and his lips slightly parted.

It was the chance Thranduil had been waiting for. Moving stealthily, his cloak concealing his form from prying eyes, he walked up to the gates and unbolted them swiftly. The wooden doors opened without so much as a creaking sound, and Thranduil slipped past them before pushing the doors closed again. As soon as the elvenking heard the locking mechanism whirring into action, bolting the doors securely once more, he knew that the most difficult part of his plan was finally over.

Thranduil turned around, sniffing the night air. It had been a long time since he had the chance to venture out so late, and he had to admit that he had missed it. A large silver moon loomed over the landscape, bathing everything with its soft light, and the leaves on the trees rustled gently.

_Welcome, Thranduil._

_Did you come to converse with us once again?_

_Please stay, friend._

Thranduil sighed ruefully, placing a gentle hand on one of the thick brown trunks.

_I can't. I'm out on a hunt._

The rustling of the leaves became louder, almost agitated.

_Will you hunt the monsters that hurt us?_

Thranduil nodded. _They're hurting my son._

_Then fly. We will help you._

_I know you will, my friends. _

With that, Thranduil set off, the trees providing him the cover he needed to move swiftly and stealthily.

* * *

The leader of the Orcs, Zark, stood to the border of the makeshift encampment he and his men had set up. The march had been long and they had been forced to travel even by daylight on more than one occasion; it was the only way they could make sure they wouldn't be discovered by another Elven patrol. As if that weren't enough, they also had to concern themselves with another burden – a feisty one for that matter.

A string of curses reached Zark's ears and he couldn't help but turn around. Just as he had suspected, it was his second-in-command who was in such particularly foul mood.

"Is the pretty Elf giving you a hard time, Ardûk?" he asked, a toothy grin marring his features further.

"The maggot knows how to throw nasty kicks," Ardûk answered, flexing his claws. "But I showed him how nasty my fists are."

"I trust you didn't rough him up too much," Zark said, narrowing his good eye. "Otherwise, we'll all have to answer to the Lieutenant."

"I didn't do anything less than what the Lieutenant himself has in store for our prize," Ardûk replied with a shrug. In the next moment, he shuddered and cast his gaze warily in all directions. "Ugh… I hate this place. I think there are eyes even on the trees!"

"Stop whining!" Zark growled. "We'll be back to the fort soon."

"And if the Lieutenant asks us to find more Elves?"

"Then we'll bring him more Elves," Zark replied simply.

Ardûk snarled. "We should have kept our prize's friends alive, too. That should have saved us the trouble of coming back."

"Yes," Zark admitted, "But now it gives us the chance to slaughter more Elves upon our return here."

Ardûk shook his head. "Anything to taste Elvish blood again, I see."

Zark's clawed fingertips reached for the scar on his face, the one that marked his now non-existent right eye.

"You know what they say, Ardûk. An eye for an eye... and more."

* * *

Legolas managed to sit up, even though his legs and hands were still tied up. He winced as the taste of blood lingered on his tongue, and he tried to wipe the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. That Orc certainly hadn't held back; his punches hurt like hell…

Still, Legolas wasn't concerned about that. Such minor injuries meant nothing to elves, since they they healed fast. What really bothered him, however, was the situation he was caught up in. The tainted presence of his captors that surrounded him almost chocked him, and their grunts and growls made his head ache. It was enough to make him wish that he had been killed along with his companions. At least they had found peace in the Halls of Mandos.

That realization also troubled Legolas to no end. Why was he kept alive? What purpose did that serve the Orcs? Such creatures cared only for the exhilaration of death and destruction in their path.

Unless… Yes, someone powerful and quite fearsome commanded this band. Someone who probably answered to the Dark Lord himself. Legolas clenched his jaw, the thought sending a chill in his heart. For, if his suspicions were true, then there was only one reason why he was allowed to live, and that was so that he would be interrogated. And the Orcs' means of interrogation meant torture and mutilation, ruining the body to an inch of their victim's life without giving them the dignity of death.

Legolas hugged his knees, trying to ease the trembling that coursed through his body. He didn't want that kind of fate; there were still so many things that he wanted to see and do in his life… He hadn't even got the chance to tell his father how much he loved him.

_He knows you do,_ a part of him reasoned. _You're his son, after all._

_But I never really told_ _him, _Legolas thought to himself.

_Then you will._

Legolas's hopes rekindled at that thought. Perhaps a search party was already coming to his rescue. And, even if it weren't, there was a good chance he would be able to escape before the worst came to pass. He would just have to keep his eyes open to any opportunity and be patient.

With that reassuring thought settling in his mind, Legolas closed his eyes and hummed a soft melodic tune to himself. He could almost see in his mind's eye the green leaves of his home and the joyous faces of Mirkwood Elves while singing and dancing, bringing peace in his heart. But then the spell was broken, for a boot landed on his side, throwing him onto the ground.

"No sleeping, Elf!" his guard growled. "We're moving again."

* * *

Any woodland creature which happened to be awake and active at the particular time of night was quite surprised to see a strange blur moving at great speed through the forest without error. Thranduil, however, didn't concern himself with those kind of thoughts. He simply kept himself focused, running so fast that the wind whistled in his ears, carrying with it the messages that the trees had for him.

_You're getting close._

_The monsters are getting tired._

_Mind the creatures that lurk in the shadows._

Yes, Thranduil was aware of the eyes that were locked on him, watching him and studying him. For though the spiders of Mirkwood recognised an Elf whenever they saw one, this one was unlike any other they had seen. It wouldn't be long before some of his stalkers would try to sink their venomous fangs on him and see what kind of prey he was. Sure enough, as their screeching reached his ears, Thranduil caught sight of the first spider jumping at him, two more following closely behind.

_Foolish,_ Thranduil thought, immediately drawing his sword. It had been a long time since he had last fought, but he still remembered how to handle such creatures. He would just have to do it quickly; his son's life depended on it.

The spider landed in front of him, attempting to block his way, but Thranduil simply gritted his teeth and thrust his sword forward. In the blink of an eye, all of the spider's legs had been hacked to pieces and the spider was left on the ground, writing on its side. Two more spiders that had approached in the meantime stopped their advances at once, confused by their prey's bites. They had never seen one fighting back so fast and certainly not so viciously!

They didn't have a chance to wonder at it for long, though. Thranduil murmured an incantation under his breath, and a powerful white light surrounded his left hand, blinding both spiders. Shrieking in pain as the light blinded them, they had no choice but to retreat to the shadows and succour their abused eyes.

The elvenking waited for several moments, keeping his breathing steady and even as he cast his glance in all directions. But the place was quite was once more. If there were any more spiders, they didn't dare deal with him.

_That should do it, _Thranduil thought, so he continued running. The dark foliage and the black barks of the trees seemed vague shapes as he ran faster than any horse, deer or any other woodland creature. The whispers of the wind were almost like echoes in his mind, barely audible and yet always guiding him closer to his son.

He came to a stop, however, when he recognised the area he was traversing. It was the very same place where Legolas was passing by with the rest of the patrol before the Orcs surprised them; the scouts had described it to him only too well. Swallowing hard, he approached the clearing, his steps light and noiseless as he stepped into it, and his heart sank. He could still hear the lament of the trees as they shook their leaves in a mournful manner, saddened by the killing that had taken place here.

_I'm sorry, my friends,_ he thought, a hand caressing the bark of a tree nearby. He wanted to offer proper comfort to them, but he also knew that now it wasn't the time. He had to see for himself the area of the scuffle.

Walking cautiously, Thranduil drifted his gaze in all directions and tried to catch sight of anything unusual. Everything was perfectly quiet and still though. If there were any traces that would have helped Thranduil track down the patrol, they were gone by now.

Even so, Thranduil wasn't willing to give up. The Orcs moved swiftly, admittedly, but _he _moved ever faster. With any luck, he would be able to catch up with them by daybreak, and then it would only be a matter of striking at the opportune moment in order to save his son.

_Where have they gone? _Thranduil asked, lifting his gaze to his only allies at this hour.

_South,_ the trees whispered. _Make haste._

Thranduil sprinted off again, trying not to think of the weariness that crept on his limps. Though this kind of speed helped him out on more than one occasion, his muscles always took a strain, so he preferred to avoid it. Well, most of the time.

* * *

Come, Thranduil, you're slowing down again,_ a young elf said, running amid the evergreen trees._

Move your feet! I've seen tortoises go faster than you!_ Another elf taunted good-naturedly._

_Thranduil smirked, and he started running as fast as his feet carried him. His two friends stopped, staring agape at the strange blur that moved so fast before their eyes, unsure how Thranduil managed to do that. That is, until one of them saw something else which he didn't like all._

Thranduil, look out for…!

_His warning came too late. In the next moment, Thranduil crashed at a young elleth before he had time to stop. Such was his force that they both rolled a good couple of feet before finally reaching to a halt._

Oh no…_ Thranduil thought, wincing and he looked at the young elleth. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?"_

"_No, I think not," the elleth said, opening his eyes. "But I certainly felt the wind knocked out of me."_

"_I'm sorry," Thranduil said, and he got himself back on his feet. Remembering his manners, he extended a hand in the elleth's direction, offering her his support._

"_Thank you," she said, dusting her robes._

"_You're welcome," Thranduil said, staring unwittingly at her long hair and elegant arms. "What is your name?"_

_She smiled. "Eilian."_

* * *

"_Lord Gil-galad! Master Elrond! An elf wishes to speak with you."_

_Gil-galad and Elrond exchanged a glance, the news taking them by quite the surprise. _

"_Did he give a name?" Gil-galad asked._

"_He said that his name is Thranduil, son of Oropher," the servant answered._

"_From the Woodland Realm?" Elrond asked._

"_Yes, Master Elrond. He said he wishes to speak with you."_

"_Then send him in," Gil-galad said._

_The servant nodded and beckoned the young Elf to step forward. Thranduil did so without showing any sign of apprehension, just like his father had taught him, and then, bowed his head slightly in courtesy._

"_My lords, forgive my unexpected visit, but it was a matter of utmost urgency. I've travelled without stop for five days, hoping that I'd be able to speak to you."_

_Gil-galad nodded his understanding, and he motioned Thranduil to come closer. "Please, speak, son of Oropher. We're honoured to have you in these halls."_

_Thranduil accepted the compliment as graciously as it was appropriate for a king's son. "My lords, my father is aware of your battle preparations against Sauron. He's willing to offer his allegiance to you, as it is a darkness that threatens all the peoples of Middle-earth."_

_Gil-galad visibly frowned. "And how is your father aware of this, if I may ask?"_

"_He has a way of knowing, Lord Gil-galad. It is not in my place to reveal my father's secrets, however," Thranduil answered. _

_Several elves didn't appreciate the Woodland Elf's boldness at all. Whispers spread throughout the hall as everyone voiced their disapproval, but all protests were silenced when Gil-galad raised his hand and he addressed Thranduil again._

"_Very well, Oropherion. I understand the secrecy. And, even though I may not like it, these are times that I cannot turn down any help that is offered so generously."_

"_And these dark times are the reasons that this help is offered so generously, I assure you," Thranduil answered._

_Gil-galad nodded. "We will discuss those matters later. Now you must rest," he said, and he motioned his hand in Elrond's direction. "Elrond Halfelven will escort you to your chambers. I trust you will find them to your liking and comfort."_

"_I am certain I will, my Lord," Thranduil said, and he politely bowed his head._

"_Very well. That will be all then," Gil-galad said, and he looked at Elrond._

_That must have been a sign for Elrond to proceed to his own task, for the half-elf nodded his understanding and he approached Thranduil with a courteous smile on his lips. Neither of them said anything; Elrond simply led the way and Thranduil followed. That is, until they were finally out of the hall and the door closed behind them._

"_If you like, I can tell one of our servants to tend to your horse. It must be exhausted after such a long journey."_

"_I didn't ride," Thranduil said._

_Elrond stared at the Woodland Elf dubiously. "Then how could you have reached Imladris in five days but with the aid of a horse?"_

_Thranduil smiled enigmatically. "With the aid of my legs."_

_Elrond frowned, the Woodland Elf surprising him to no end._

* * *

The smell of something burning reached Thranduil's nostrils, forcing him to come to a stop. If his suspicions were correct, then he was close to the remnants of a campfire – probably work of the Orcs he had been tracking. Deciding to investigate matters even further, he followed the smell of the smoking logs until he finally reached the campsite. At least, whatever was left of it; there was no sign of visible life.

Frowning, Thranduil walked up to the logs and placed a hand over them to feel the warmth that reached his fingers, and then examined the ground. It wasn't a simple task, since the Orcs had trampled the place mercilessly and smudged any clear sign that Thranduil would have been able to read. That is, except one. For Thranduil's eyes locked on a crimson stain on a rock, and the elvenking recognised the stain for what it was: blood. _Elven _blood.

Legolas was here and he was hurt.

Thranduil felt his own blood boiling in his veins. When he found the Orcs, he would make certain that they paid for the pain that they caused his son. More importantly, however, he was also relieved. It meant that he was getting closer, and Legolas was most probably still alive.

_I'm coming, Legolas. Be strong, _the elvenking thought, and he set off again, new strength of hope fuelling his legs.

* * *

"Foolish," Eregdos said, shaking his head. "That is precisely what he did."

Edrahil straightened his robes, letting the seneschal vent off his anger and frustration first. "Indeed. But it's also what a desperate father would have done. Do not blame him for the love he has for his son."

"What about his people? They need their king!"

"He's already named his successors, if the unspeakable should happen," Edrahil replied simply.

"That's not the real problem and you know it!" Eregdos snapped.

"I do," the advisor said, bowing his head slightly. "I care about him too, Eregdos."

Eregdos didn't answer, not at once anyway. Sighing, he crossed his arms and rested his back against the wall. "This is the second time that this is happening to me."

"What is?" Edrahil asked curiously.

"I lost a king back in Dagorlad," Eregdos explained. "Now I'm about to lose another one."

Edrahil smiled. "He's not Oropher."

"Yet he's marching to his death just like Oropher."

"He's not," Edrahil said. "Or are you willing to abandon him to his fate?"

Eregdos looked at the advisor dubiously. "Are you suggesting that we should go after him?"

"Indeed, I am," Edrahil said.

"We don't even know where to look for him," Eregdos pointed out.

"_We _do not," Edrahil agreed. "But there are those who do," he said, tapping his nose meaningfully.

Eregdos finally understood.

"I'll go fetch the dogs. You form a scouting a party."

"Of course," Edrahil said, nodding, and he followed the seneschal to the exit.

The king was probably going to have their heads for this, but it would be worth it if it meant bringing him back.

TBC...


	4. The March

The sound of clanging armour and heavy footsteps kept ringing in the air as the horde of Orcs marched on. Even so, Legolas noticed that his captors weren't moving as cautiously or as hurriedly as they did before. Suspecting the worst, the young elf looked at his surroundings and his heart sank at the sight. He recognized the particular area, and he knew that it had become off limits for the Woodland Elves; it was Orc territory now, part of the Necromancer's realm of Dol Guldur.

_Merciful Elbereth… _he thought, closing his eyes as the implication hit home. He was beyond any help and no one would be able to rescue him. He was on his own.

"Stop stalling, Elf!" an Orc's hoarse voice said, and then Legolas was shoved forward. Although the ill treatment made the elf's blood boil, he didn't react; he was aware that causing trouble wouldn't get him out of his predicament alive. No, his best option would be to draw as less attention to himself as possible. If his captors believed that they had subdued him, then they would most likely drop their guard down, and so Legolas would find the chance he needed to escape.

The horde came to a stop at that very moment, cutting into Legolas' train of thought. Forced on the ground, all he could do was watch the Orcs look in every direction and wonder they were expecting something; they certainly seemed to act that way. Legolas pricked up his ears, trying to listen to anything out of the ordinary, yet there was nothing.

And then he felt it: the unmistakable sensation of being watched coursed through him, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It was a most unnatural feeling, especially under these circumstances, but, even more strangely, Legolas didn't feel threatened or uneasy. If anything, he almost felt safe, as though someone was watching over him. Who though?

Legolas's thoughts were cut short, however, when more growling and heavy footsteps reached his ears. To the elf, that could only mean one thing.

Reinforcements.

* * *

Zark bared his teeth and let out a heavy guttural sound. He hadn't expected to come across any Orc patrols so soon, so something big must have happened. Curiosity overwhelming him, he drew back his shoulders proudly and stepped closer to who appeared to be the leader of the other Orc patrol.

"I'm Zark, son of Zerik," he said. "State your name or taste my blade in your gut."

The other ork, much older than Zark, stepped forward. "I'm Argyl, son of Sargas, And we," he said, pointing to the rest of his unit which were armed to the teeth and as restless as their leader, "have been expecting you."

"An honour, for sure," Zark said, keeping his tone as civil as an Ork could. "So what's this about?"

"I think you know better than anyone," Argyl answered, eyeing Zark. "The Necromancer is very impatient and he doesn't tolerate possible failures. Did you complete the task?"

"See for yourself," Zark replied, stepping aside. His subordinates followed his example, revealing the kneeling form of Legolas.

Argyl snorted. "Just one?"

"He's more than enough."

Argyl approached the Elf and looked at him with quite the scrutiny before addressing Zark again.

"Does he know our language?"

"He doesn't give that kind of impression," Zark said with a shrug. "Does it matter?"

"It matters," Argyl said. "I don't want him to know who else the Necromancer has sent."

"Oh?" Zark asked, intrigued. "And who might it be?"

Argyl cast a brief glance in the elf's direction, expecting any kind of reaction as he leaned confidentially to Zark.

"The Lieutenant is coming."

Now that was a piece of news that Zark hadn't expected in the least. He frowned and stared at Argyl dubiously. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am," Argyl answered, his voice resembling a growl. "I even got a message from him!"

"What kind of message?" Zark asked.

"To expect his arrival tomorrow," Argyl said. "And to prepare any elven prisoners we've got for questioning."

"What's the matter? Aren't the torture chambers of Dol Guldur good enough for that sort of thing?"

"As I said, the Necromancer has grown impatient. He wants the Woodland Realm to fall as soon as possible, so the sooner he finds out about its weaknesses, the better."

"I doubt this one will talk as fast as He likes," Zark said, pointing at Legolas with his thumb.

"Why do you think He's sent the Lieutenant?" Argyl said with a cruel smile. "There's a river nearby. We're going to set camp and wait for him there. Any objections?"

"None from me," Zark said, the same crooked smile forming on his lips. He turned to his subordinates. "All right, maggots, we've marched enough! We're going to set camp next to the river, and I'd better not see any of you lazing about!"

The rest of the Orcs complied with their commander's orders, snapping into action at once. Yet none of them noticed the pair of cerulean-coloured eyes that watched them from the safety of a tall tree nearby.

* * *

Thranduil perched comfortably on one of the thickest branches of the tree, barely moving a muscle. He knew the Orcs wouldn't see him; his cloak meshed with the green foliage almost impeccably. However, he had seen Legolas tense, a sign that his son had sensed his presence. Granted, Legolas wouldn't be able to tell who exactly was there, but his reaction alone could alarm the Orcs.

Thankfully, none of the Orcs seemed to pay attention to Legolas for the present, too focused on their own affairs. Thranduil could see the two commanders still talking, discussing their next course of action and deciding to camp to a river nearby.

Yes, Thranduil knew the language of the Orks. It was a vile Tongue, and the elvenking felt tainted every time he had to utter it. Nevertheless, it was a knowledge that had been particularly useful during the war, and now it enabled him to listen in on the enemy. And he now knew that, if he intended to rescue Legolas, he had to do it quickly, before this Lieutenant that seemed to unnerve the Orcs so much arrived. Thanduil already had a plan, and he intended to go through with it as soon as the darkness of the night was back in the world.

* * *

_Thranduil had heard the humans talking about the race of Elves on more than just one occasion here, in the fields of Dagorlad. 'Beautiful beyond the measure of men', 'mystical' and 'tireless' were some of the words that had stood out quite prominently, and Thranduil couldn't help but wonder at the impression they had given to the Secondborn. Truth be told, he didn't feel beautiful or mystical at the moment. He was just bloody and weary after endless hours of gruesome battling._

_He entered the camp, finally removing the golden-coloured helmet that was stifling him and casting a brief glance at his people. Most of them were sitting cross-legged on the ground, clustered in small groups and helping one another in any way they could. Others treated open wounds, others offered words of encouragement, and others just sat next to their comrades, offering the best thing: the comfort of companionship. _

_Sighing softly, Thranduil tried to unclasp his armour, but his fingers kept trembling with fatigue. He swore under his breath in frustration. _

"_Let me."_

_Thranduil looked up, surprised to see who it was. "You should be in the other camp."_

_Elrond smiled a bit and continued unclasping Thranduil's chestplate. "I wanted to be here. I'm certain there are more than just several elves who need some kind of healing."_

"_We have healers," Thranduil pointed out._

"_Healing of the wounds isn't the only thing I can offer," Elrond answered. "Sometimes, all one needs is a listening ear or a word of advice."_

_Thranduil shook his head. "I doubt any of my people will want to converse with a Noldo."_

"_What about you?" Elrond asked._

_Thranduil pretended he didn't understand the question. "What about me?"_

"_Do you want to talk to a Noldo?" Elrond asked._

"_No," Thranduil said. "I'm willing to talk to a friend, though," he added, tugging his lips to a small smile._

_Elrond understood and he smiled back. "Let us talk then," he replied, motioning his hand towards a small tent nearby. Its shade provided a welcome refuge against the rays of the sun, especially after the heat of battle. _

_Thranduil sat down with a small groan, relieved that he could have some rest at last. Elrond Halfelven followed his example almost to a tee, but Thranduil noticed the stiffness in his movements._

"_I see you haven't recovered yet," the elven prince said. "Yet here you are, wishing to offer your assistance to those who need it."_

"_I can do that much, at the very least," Elrond said. "And I have to thank you for that."_

_Thranduil waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "I was merely at the right place and the right time. Think nothing of it."_

"_You nevertheless saved my life," the half-elf pointed out. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to."_

_Thranduil frowned and regarded Elrond in a puzzled manner. "Why?"_

_Elrond shifted in his place, wincing slightly, and then faced Thranduil. "There's not much love between our races, Oropherion. And though in these dark times there's another, much darker enemy rising, there are many of us who do not see reason. They let foolish pride blind them and they do not realize that this Alliance must work for the sake of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth."_

_Thranduil clenched his jaw. "Do you speak of Gil-galad?" he asked deliberately._

"_And your father."_

_Thranduil had to admit that Elrond was gracious to acknowledge the fault to both parties. That was enough to appease the anger that had ignited in his heart._

"_My father is a leader among our people and wise. Please do not regard him as a naïve elfling who's too young to know his own good."_

"_I never did," Elrond said, raising his hand in a gesture of peace._

"_Yet why is he treated with so little faith?" Thranduil asked. "He knows the Enemy as well as Lord Gil-galad and King Elendil."_

"_Thranduil…" Elrond reached for the elven prince's shoulder and clasped it tightly. "What your father suggested is nigh impossible. Surely you can see that."_

"_Difficult, yes, but not impossible," Thranduil argued. "And if it means avoiding the death of so many Elves and Men, it is worth a try."_

"_How certain are you that the plan will work?" Elrond asked._

"_How certain are you that we will win this war?"_

_Elrond looked at Thranduil with wide open eyes and, before the elven prince could react, he cupped the Elf's face with both hands and looked into his eyes – looking into Thranduil's soul._

"_You know," he finally breathed out. "You know what is going to happen."_

_Thranduil stared back at Elrond, unafraid. "My father told me. Though it seems you are aware of what the future holds as well."_

_Elrond nodded slowly, still looking into the younger elf's eyes. "I have had the gift of foresight for as long as I remember," he said. "Yet I believed I was the only one who had seen _that._"_

"_You understand then?" Thranduil asked, a hopeful tone in his voice. "You understand why my father wants to go through with that plan, even though it's madness?"_

"_I do," Elrond admitted. "But I fear your father is battling with forces that are beyond his power."_

"_If that were so, then the Valar wouldn't have warned him or you," Thranduil said. "That much I believe."_

_Elrond didn't speak for many long moments. Even if there was something more he wanted to say, he never did. In that moment, Edrahil walked up to them and locked his gaze on Thranduil._

"_My prince," he said, bowing his head in respect. "Your father wishes to speak to you."_

"_Very well, I'll go see him at once," Thranduil said and got back on his feet. "Please escort Master Elrond to any wounded that require his healing abilities. I'm certain they will benefit."_

"_Of course, my prince."_

_Thranduil faced Elrond, offering his hand to help him up. "Thank you for the company, Master Elrond."_

"_I thank you as well," Elrond answered, yet Thranduil could see that the grey eyes were saddened._

_Still, that had to wait; his father was expecting him. So he hurried to the largest tent in the camp, the one that belonged to the elvenking, and stepped inside. To his surprise and mild concern, however, he couldn't see Eregdos anywhere; it meant that, whatever Oropher wanted to speak to him about, it was for Thranduil's ears alone._

"_Father?"_

"_I'm here, my son."_

_Thranduil finally caught sight of his father, sitting cross-legged a little farther away. Deciding to follow his example, the young Elf sat opposite his father, regarding him closely._

"_Edrahil said you wanted to see me."_

"_I did," Oropher answered, his clear blue eyes locking on his son's cerulean one. "I want you to listen very carefully."_

* * *

Thranduil blinked as he became more alert, and the first thing he saw was darkness. He knew it was night, yet neither starlight nor moonlight could pass through the thick gnarled branches of the old trees. The Necromancer's malice had tainted them, corrupting them enough to shun all light.

It was just as well, for that gave Thranduil an advantage over the Orcs. He could stay perched on his comfortable place on the tree and inspect everything from a bird's eye view without being noticed. Though they were creatures of the dark, the Orcs' sight was nothing compared to an elf's.

Thranduil stood up, certain that the branch would hold his weight and he looked below. The camp seemed quiet. Most of the Orcs were sitting around a fire, sharing cruel jests and insults. Nevertheless, the place was well-guarded. The elvenking saw about ten guards surrounding the camp, keeping the vigil with their weapons at hand. But the thing that truly made Thranduil's heart sink was the sight of his son locked up in a cage. The young one was curled to himself, hugging his knees tightly and keeping his face buried in his arms, seeming the embodiment of despair and defeat.

No, Thranduil had been patient enough. Now it was time to save his son. It was with that thought that the elvenking jumped lightly on the ground, sword in hand and prepared for everything. He treaded softly, barely making a sound as he moved on and keeping his eyes on Legolas. He hoped that, if he approached close enough, he would be able to talk to Legolas and assure him he wasn't alone.

Thranduil's thoughts were cut short, though. The alarming sensation of danger washed through him, making him turn around in an attempt to defend himself. It was to no avail; the scimitar was already resting against his neck.

"You've made the greatest mistake in your life, Elf,' Argyl hissed malevolently.

* * *

Zark took another sip of his drink, and then threw the rest of it into the fire in evident disgust - even an Orc had its limits when it came down to brews. Considering his fun spoilt, he shoved a couple of his subordinates away and got back on his feet.

"Leaving so soon, Zark?" Arduk asked, sounding quite cheerful. It was obvious he had gotten fairly drunk.

"I'm just going to stretch my legs," Zark said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "You, scumbag!" he added, facing another drunken Orc, just a little farther from him. "See if the Elf wants anything to eat!"

"Why me?" the other Orc whined.

Zark drew his scimitar in the blink of an eye. "Because I said so, that's why," he growled. "Any more objections?"

The other Orc said nothing; he just got up grudgingly and saw to his task. Satisfied with that, Zark sheathed his sword once more and continued inspecting the camp. Everyone seemed to be in a merry mood, that was for certain, and Zark didn't blame them. The Lieutenant would arrive soon and take the elf off their hands, which meant that they could return back to the elven territory and cause as much havoc as they wanted.

Now… Where was Argyl? The decrepit sample of an Orc said that they had to talk before the Lieutenant got here; namely, talk about the reasons the Necromancer would sent one of his most loyal subordinates out in the open. Perhaps the Orcs could use this turn of events to their advantage…

Zark's thoughts were cut short when a great roar filled the air. Recognising the sound as one of danger, the commander instantly unsheathed his scimitar and rallied his subordinates.

"Did that sound like Argyl?" Arduk asked, trying to shake off his drunkenness.

"One way to find out, isn't there? Sober up and follow me!" Zark barked, beckoning three more Orcs to follow him as well. When they found Argyl, however, they realised that there was no need for an alarm at all; the old Orc seemed unharmed but for a large cut in his hand. But the sword he was holding dripped dark blood as he towered over the lifeless body of an elf.

"Took you fools long enough," he said, baring his teeth.

"We arrived as soon as we heard you," Zark said with a scowl. He nodded to the prone body. "Where did this one come from?"

"I don't know and I don't care," Argyl said as he tore a piece of cloth and wrapped his bleeding palm. "It's dead now."

Zark clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disapproval. "And you were the one complaining that we don't have enough elves to present to the Lieutenant."

"It was either him or me!" Argyl snarled, placing the sword on a well-wrought scabbard – obviously the elf's.

"If you had kept him alive, we would have at least found out if there are others around," Zark pointed out. "This could have been an attempt to rescue our prisoner."

"Then we should make sure they find out what will happen to them if they try anything of the sort," Argyl said, narrowing his eyes. "Throw him into the river."

"And if this doesn't daunt them?" Zark said.

"Then we'll be prepared for them," Argyl replied. "This is _our _territory now. If they want to realize that at the price of their lives, then so be it!"

Zark glared at the older Orc for several moments in a challenging manner. In the end, though, he let out a bark of laughter and clapped Argyl on the shoulder.

"I like the way you think, old one," he declared. "Watch it or I might consider you worthy for a duel." He faced his three subordinates and pointed at the dead elf. "Get rid of him."

"Zark… He might have something more of value," the smallest of the three Orcs said, his eyes locking briefly on the sword and scabbard Argyl had in his hands. It was clear that he wanted some spoils for himself, too.

Argyl, however, wasn't happy in the least. In a couple of strides, he towered over the small Orc, his dark eyes shining with wrath.

"He hasn't got anything else. Whatever he had is now mine and no other's. So don't try to claim _my _kill."

The small Orc lowered his head in a gesture of submission and he picked the Elf by the arms. The other two helped him and, a few minutes later, the soft sound of something tossed in the water filled the air. Zark grinned, his teeth glistening under the meagre light of the night.

"One elf less."

"I agree. Come along, then. We've dilly-dallied long enough," Argyl said gruffly, already heading towards the camp.

Zark nodded, eyes still locked on the old one and his prize. Perhaps he _ought_ to challenge Argyl in a duel. It would be a pity for that beautiful sword to stay in so unworthy hands.

* * *

Legolas didn't understand what was going on at first. All he knew was that the drunken slurs and the terrible noise that was meant to be singing ebbed away, replaced by cries of triumph and appraisal; he could tell the difference, even if the young Elf didn't know the Orkish Tongue. But what could have caused such joy in their cruel hearts? Was it possible that they had captured someone else? Another elf perhaps?

Legolas shuddered, hoping that wasn't it. He didn't want anyone to share his terrible fate.

The cries became louder, and Legolas noticed that the Orcs were gathered around a particular one, the one that had joined Legolas's captors earlier that day. Legolas remembered him quite well, for he stood out amid the other Orcs; his old soul and pride were clear in his black eyes.

But Legolas's wonder vanished in that very moment. Disbelief and dread coursed through his veins, sending a chill to the very core of his soul and numbing him. What he saw couldn't be true, his eyes were cheated by some kind of spell. Yet his father's scabbard still glistened brightly, the sword resting on its sheath… while the old Orc held it up, showing to everyone within the camp his trophy.

Before Legolas realised what he was doing, he cried out and threw himself on the iron bars of his cage.

* * *

Zark watched as Argyl accepted the other Orcs' praises, not in the least surprised by the outcome. Elves were tough creatures to kill, after all, and to do it single-handedly was a feat indeed. Argyl himself seemed quite pleased about matters himself. He held the sword up in the air so that everyone would see the elegant weapon, the evidence of Argyl's victory.

However, all celebrations were cut short as a terrible cry sounded throughout the camp. Everyone turned around, intrigued to see the captive looking as if ready to somehow break through the bars and lunge at them.

"Orc! Where did you get this sword?"

None of them answered. Most of the Orcs simply blinked, not expecting the elf to address them directly.

"Answer me! Where did you find the sword?" the elf tried again, pointing at Argyl.

Zark leaned close to the older Orc in a confidential manner. "Looks like the elf is interested in your possession."

"So it does," Argyl said, keeping his eyes locked on the elf.

Zark grinned. "So what do you want to do with him?"

"The elf wants to know where I found the sword, so I'll tell him just that," Argyl answered, his eyes glinting malevolently. Pushing away the Orcs that surrounded him, he walked up to the elf and stood in front of him, showing him the sword.

"Do you know this weapon, Elf?"

The captive stared at Argyl angrily, clenching his jaw. "Yes."

"Was its keeper your friend then?" Argyl asked.

"My father," the elf answered. "Tell me where he is."

Argyl's fingers tightened around the sword, baring his teeth as he snorted. "Where we put him. At the bottom of the river."

The elf's eyes widened, his cheeks drained of all colour; it was a sight that made all the Orcs watching the scene smirk.

"You lie…" the elf whispered.

"Am I?" Argyl sneered. "Then why is his sword in my possession, Elf?"

The elf didn't speak, yet his eyes were swimming in tears that he refused to shed.

"That's right," Argyl said. "He's dead. Died like the maggot he was."

A terrible scream tore out of the elf's chest, and he shook the bars anew as tears flowed freely down his face. "_Law! Le degithon, ulunn!_"*

Yet none of the Orcs seemed fazed. If anything, the sight of the elf wishing to murder the old Orc was exhilarating, waking in them the desire to see the shedding of blood.

Zark stepped close to Argyl, smirking. "You upset him."

"It looks so," Argyl replied, hardly sharing the mirth.

"So why don't you give him the chance to reclaim his father's sword if it means so much for him?" Zark suggested.

Argyl faced Zark, confusion in his dark eyes. "What do you mean?"

Zark didn't bother with an answer, though. Smiling enigmatically, he just gave his subordinates a single command.

"Make a circle!"

All the Orcs obeyed eagerly, aware what was going to follow next. Argyl, on the other hand, grabbed Zark from his armour, seething.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in a hiss.

"It's simple, old one," Zark said, stepping closer to the cage. "You have something the elf wants. That's a duel challenge."

"We need the elf alive!" Argyl said.

"Let him kill you, then," Zark answered with a shrug. For Zark didn't really care about the outcome. If the elf died, the Lieutenant wouldn't be pleased with Argyl and made sure the old Orc paid for it with his life. If the elf survived… well, Argyl would step out of the way a little sooner. Either way, he would be able to claim the sword as his afterwards.

Argyl bared his teeth in Zark's direction, probably seeing through his train of thought. Even so, he did nothing except watch Zark open the cage and then throw a scimitar at the elf's feet.

"Pick it up!" Zark growled.

The elf complied. Still keeping his eyes on Zark, he reached for the scimitar, wrapping his fingers around the handle tightly.

"Do you want to avenge your father's death, Elf?" Zark asked, retreating to the circle his subordinates had formed with their bodies.

The elf looked at Argyl, hatred visible in his eyes. "Yes."

"Do you want your father's sword back?"

"Yes!" the elf cried.

Zark narrowed his only eye. "Then claim it."

That was all the prodding the elf needed. Moving with the speed of a great feline, he charged at Argyl. Argyl, however, was prepared for him, sidestepping just as quickly. The blade of the scimitar descended on him, but the old Orc parried the blow in the blink of an eye, wielding the sword as if it was part of his own hand. Legolas wouldn't be deterred so easily, though. If anything, it spurned him on, wanting nothing more than hurt the Orc who killed his father. His attacks were ruthless, brutal, trying to break Argyl's defences and place a blow on any part of his body. Yet Argyl didn't waver for a second, keeping his movements fluid and almost elegant as he fought back.

Meanwhile, all the Orcs cheered on, the battle entertaining them to no end. Some of them had even started placing bets as to who the winner would be, wagering any kind of spoil they had in their possession. Zark crossed his arms, quite pleased with the particular turn of events, and he now waited for the outcome of the duel just as eagerly. One of the two combatants was bound to make a mistake. When that happened, then his life would truly be over.

The elf lunged again, and this time he managed to place a large cut on Argyl's arm. Argyl jumped back at a safe distance, wincing in pain, but the Firtborn wouldn't have it. Seeing an opening at last, he rushed at the old Orc, ready to deliver the finishing blow.

It was a mistake. Argyl fell down, feigning weakness, and then lunged both legs forward to knock the elf off his feet. Crying out in pain and surprise, the elf landed on the soft ground with a heavy thud and, by the time he had recovered and attempted to get back on his feet, it was too late. Argyl had already straddled him, wrenching the scimitar away from the strong fingers, and poised the sword over the pale neck.

Cheers rang throughout the makeshift circle, and then other words, almost like chanting, filled the air.

"Kill him."

Argyl looked momentarily at the Orcs, and then returned his gaze to the sprawled elf, claws twitching as they held the sword tightly. But the elf didn't struggle. He just closed his eyes and waited, accepting his fate.

* * *

_*Law! Le degithon, ulunn! (Sindarin) = No! I'll kill you, monster!_

TBC...  



	5. Deception

Legolas still waited, feeling the sting of his father's blade on his throat. He didn't know why the Orc hadn't struck already, nor did he care. The only thing wanted now was everything to be over so he could join his father to the Halls of Mandos - the Orc would only be doing him a favour.

To his surprise, however, the old Orc simply stood back on his feet and drew back the blade. The other orcs were just as surprised and were swift in voicing their protests and disbelief, but a single angry glare of Argyl's silenced them at once. All they could do was watch the old Orc grab Legolas and guide him back into his cage.

Legolas knew he could have resisted in that very moment, seizing this perfect chance to fight his way out or at least die trying, but his strength and will had abandoned him, replaced by grief and resignation. He didn't even protest as the old Orc pushed him unceremoniously in the cage, making him stumble on his feet. He didn't bother to look at the two plates that were placed near him, filled with food and water. He didn't even register the gruff command of the old Orc, telling him he should eat. He simply curled hugged his legs and hid his face from the rest of the world, shedding bitter tears for his dead father.

* * *

Argyl looked at the Elf for many long moments. Even in the darkness, he could see the broad shoulders shaking and he heard the clear sound of sobs, a sign the Firstborn was crying. Not wishing to look at the particular sight any further, Argyl turned on his heel and headed towards the river.

"You spoiled everyone's fun, you know."

Argyl stopped in his tracks at Zark's voice. The fool still had the audacity to address him after what had happened?

"I'm not here for your amusement," he said, facing Zark angrily. "You had no right to place the captive's life in danger."

"Since when do you care about an Elf's life, old one?" Zark asked.

"Since he's become my responsibility," Argyl snapped. Moving with a swiftness that took Zark by surprise, the older Ork lunged at him and pinned him against a thick tree. "Then again, that was your plan all along, wasn't it? Have the Lieutenant execute me for killing our captive?"

Zark bared his teeth, snarling. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, _I_ do," Argyl growled. "And mark my words, Zark, if you ever pull this kind of trickery again, I'm going to let _this _do the talking." He held up the elven sword in a meaningful manner, his eyes still locked on Zark's lone one. "Is that clear?"

A guttural sound flowed out of Zark's gritted teeth. Seething, Argyl tightened his grip on the younger Orc.

"I said… Are we clear?"

"Fine, you proved your point," Zark replied indignantly. "Let me go."

Argyl obliged him. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had enough of you."

With that word of finality, he walked away. He headed straight for the riverbank, where none of the other Orcs would see him, since he needed that kind of privacy. He was trembling too violently and he could feel his stomach churning even as an unpleasant burning reach the back of his stomach. It was almost too much to bear, and he had barely enough to get to the edge of the river and fall on his knees, heaving and spilling his insides in the water with a loud retching sound. And even as he still threw up the contents of his stomach, the same thought kept ringing relentlessly in his mind, scaring him to the very core of his soul.

He had almost killed his son.

* * *

"_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Elf," the Orc said, baring his teeth. "Too bad you're going to pay for it with your life."_

_Thranduil clenched his jaw, dismayed at this turn of events. But, if there was something that his father had taught him well was to never stop thinking, to always keep control of the situation. Determined to rescue Legolas in spite of all obstacles, he grabbed the blade in one hand, stopping it from penetrating his throat, and ran his own sword through the Orc's chest. Argyl's eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth opened as if he meant to say something, yet all that came out of his lips was blood. In a matter of seconds, the Orc had collapsed in a heap on the ground, already dead._

_The elvenking didn't stir at first. He kept his gaze locked on the dead Orc, almost worried that he would rise up again. Only after he had absolutely sure that Argyl was dead did Thranduil release a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. But what truly snapped him out of his hesitation was the pain in his palm; the Orc's blade had indeed cut deep._

_Still, as he still stared at the dead body before him, an idea started forming on his mind. He had meant to infiltrate the Orkish camp. Now _this_ was his chance, and he had to take it now, before he was discovered. _

_Allowing himself the luxury of a smile, he closed his eyes and whispered softly under his breath._

"_A crouching body and a face of cruelty, may this be what all eyes see."_

* * *

Thranduil looked at his hands and face, still in their Orkish form, and he sighed. After taking Argyl's shape, it was child's play to place an illusion spell on the dead Ork and then raise the alarm. He knew that, if there was one thing that the Orcs appreciated, it was a good kill. That meant he could be taken back to the camp without having to answer any questions that would have given him away.

The particular plan had worked before in the past, after all…

* * *

_Thranduil heard the unmistakable grunts and curses that belonged to the Orcs, and he knew that this was the time to go through with his father's plan. Using the cover of a rock formation, he whispered the incantation that would deceive the Orcs' eyes and, once he had taken their hideous form, he stepped out of his hiding place behind the barren rock formation of the battlefield._

_The band stopped on its tracks, and its leader narrowed his eyes, looking at Thranduil with quite the scrutiny._

"_What business has a lone Orc so far away from the camp?" he asked, his voice barely a hiss._

"_None that is your concern, that's for sure," Thranduil responded, answering in the foul tongue of the Orcs. It felt strange having to act so vulgar and brusquely, but it was a necessary evil. If he didn't put up a good act, the trickery would be discovered._

"_It is if I can make something worthwhile out of it," the leader answered, threat in his every word. "Lord Sauron gave strict orders that none of the bodies should be stripped off their weapons."_

"_What Lord Sauron doesn't know, won't hurt him," Thranduil said, holding up a couple of elven-knives. "And I don't think you'll let him know."_

_The leader took one of the knives and examined its silver blade with a crooked smile. "Excellent. I've got to hand it to you, friend, you have quite the eye for fine weapons."_

"_As do you, apparently," Thranduil said. It was a pity that he had to give up his own knives in order to earn the other Orc's trust, but at least they had served their goal. "What do you say then? Am I free to go?"_

"_Yes, you're free," the leader said, pleased._

_Thranduil let out a small grunting sound of thanks and he started walking away. However, the leader's voice stopped him on his tracks._

"_You never said your name, friend."_

_Thranduil winced inwardly; he had forgotten about that particular detail, and now he had to think fast. "Really? It's Tarsin." _

_The leader of the Orcs let the name sink in before nodding. "Alright. Well, Tarsin, next time that you decide to disobey orders, make sure you don't get caught. Not everyone is as generous as I."_

I know that better than you think, _Thranduil thought wryly. "I'll keep that in mind," he answered gruffly, and he continued on his way without looking back. Though the first part of his plan was successful, the disguised elvenprince was aware that nothing was far from over. Not before he reached Sauron and did what Oropher asked of him: to kill the Dark Lord and end this war once and for all._

* * *

Thranduil got back on his feet and, after making sure that his sword was safely buckled in place, he brought his emotions back in check and got back to camp. His eyes drifting in all directions, assessing his surroundings, but every other Orc seemed to have lost their interest in him. In fact, most of them were fast asleep, all but snoring in their drunken stupor. Zark was nowhere to be seen, yet Thranduil supposed that he had retired to his tent; the leaders of the Orcs were too proud to associate with their subordinates more than necessary. More importantly, it gave Thranduil the chance to walk up to the cage again; he wanted to see how Legolas was faring.

As he had expected, his son was curled on his side, although his trembling had stopped. In fact, it looked like the young elf was asleep, drained after grieving for the supposed loss of his father. But Thranduil knew Legolas only too well, and he was aware that the young one he had heard his footsteps. Thranduil looked around once more, relieved to see that no Orc was in sight, and he opened the cage.

Legolas turned around as the lock clicked ajar and he gazed at the Orc before him.

"Have you come to kill me?"

The voice was toneless and lacking any kind of emotion, cutting through Thranduil's heart like a knife. To see his son wishing death like this was unbearable.

"_Law," _he said. _"Telin le thaed."*_

That caught Legolas's attention. He sat up, becoming more alert as he stared at Thranduil's Orkish face dubiously, for Orcs weren't supposed to know the Elven Tongue.

"_Man le?_"** he asked.

Thranduil, however, shook his head. "_U-si. Trenarathon i narn ned lu thent_." He extended his claw in Legolas's direction. _"Boe ammen bedim lim. No cirar."***_

Legolas hesitated, and Thranduil supposed it was for a good reason. How was it possible to trust an Orc, even if he spoke of freedom and escape in a tongue spoken by fair creatures alone?

"_U-thelin uthaes. Estelio nin."****_

It took a few more moments of coaxing, but Legolas relented. He took the proffered claw and followed the Orc outside the cage. Both elves moved swiftly, barely making a noise as they passed by the sleeping enemy and it didn't take them long to reach the outskirts of the camp… and to the first guard. Thranduil motioned his son to stop and they hid behind some bushes before the Orc saw them. Placing a clawed fingertip on his lips in a gesture of silence, Thranduil snuck closer to the Orc and whispered his sleeping spell.

Legolas watched on as the Orc fell down, snoring contentedly, and he looked at his rescuer incredulously.

Thranduil shrugged. "It's a useful trick," he said, still talking in the elven tongue. He had to help his son realize that he was with a friend. "Come along."

"Just who are you?" Legolas asked. "You were ready to kill me barely two hours ago and now…"

"That was never the plan," Thranduil said. "Zark had set me up and I had to play along." He cupped his son's face, hoping he understood how sorry he was. "And I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

Legolas didn't pull away from the touch as Thranduil feared at first. That obviously surprised the younger elf himself as well, for a look of confusion reflected in his cerulean-coloured eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked again, more softly. "Were you with my father?"

"Not exactly," Thranduil answered with a smile. "I…"

His voice died in his throat, for a cold sensation of dread coursed through his veins. He swallowed hard, for he recognized that feeling and he had hoped that he'd never sense it again.

"Legolas… Run."

Legolas didn't comply. "How did you know my name?" he asked incredulously.

"Just run!" Thranduil ordered, unsheathing his sword.

"On the contrary, Elf. Stay where you are," a hissing voice said at that very moment.

Thranduil's heart sank, and he could only close his eyes when a whole horde of Orcs surrounded them. The Lieutenant had arrived, just as he had promised. And, unfortunately, Thranduil knew the Nazgûl by the name of Khamul only too well. He looked in every direction, assessing their predicament he and Legolas had gotten themselves into. To his dismay, there was no opening through which they could escape, and fighting their way out was out of the question; the Orcs that surrounded them were too many. Even so, his hand still reached for his sword and he stood in front of Legolas in a protective manner.

The young Elf wouldn't have it, though. He stepped forward and placed himself in a defensive position next to the 'Orc'.

"Legolas…" Thranduil started, his voice still raw and raspy.

"I don't know who you are, but you won't fight alone," the young one said, his hands clenched into fists.

Thranduil couldn't help but smile inwardly. Legolas' fire of determination had returned.

"You may think yourselves brave, but you're only foolish," Khamul said, contempt dripping in every word he hissed out. "This is my Lord's realm. You're only alive because He wills it."

"What shall we do with the traitor, my lord?" one of the Orcs asked, his beady eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked at Thranduil.

"Traitor?" Khamul echoed. A sharp, cold sound that resembled laughter filled the air. "You fool! He's no traitor, but a trickster!"

Thranduil gritted his teeth and attempted to react, but it was too late. The Ringwraith suddenly raised his hand, chanting in the foul language of Mordor. Invisible hands gripped the elvenking's throat, almost chocking the life out of him as he was lifted in the air. He tried to stay focused, knowing that if his identity was revealed now, he would be faced with the demons of his past all over again.

His efforts were to no avail. As the dark of unconsciousness threatened to cast its spell on him, his will slipped. His claws and ruined features were gone, replaced by his fair face and strong hands. His yellow eyes brightened, the cerulean colour becoming vivid in them once more, while the dark mane changed into golden that shone almost like a crown on his head.

He looked at Legolas from the corner of his eye. He struggled to lift his hand and reach him when he saw the young one staring at the transformation in shock and numbing confusion.

"_Ion…_"

Then he felt himself falling and he sank into darkness.

* * *

"_Adar!_"

Legolas didn't stop to think. As soon as he saw the transformed creature – his _father_ – fall down with a sickening thug, he ran at his side and cradled him in his arms. No, it was no deception. Thranduil was indeed before him, very much alive, albeit unconscious.

"Father…" The prince shook the king gently. "Father, wake up, please…"

"Your father?" the wraith echoed, intrigued. He stepped closer to the two Elves, and Legolas caught himself tightening his grip on his father in a protective manner. The wraith, however, settle with cupping his face, invisible eyes studying him carefully.

"Yes, there is no doubt. You are his son. The same defiance burns in your eyes," he finally declared, standing tall once more. "It is strange how you seemed surprised at his trickery. What else has he not told you?"

Legolas just drew back and took up his father's sword, holding its blade against the Wraith's chest.

"He's told me I should not fear death," he said through gritted teeth.

"And what a futile advice it was," the Wraith said in an indifferent tone. "My Lord does not wish your death… Although _you_ will once we are done with you." He faced the Orcs. "Seize them both and bind their hands. And…" With that, he pointed at Thranduil, "Look out for him. Make sure he remains unconscious until they're locked up."

Legolas tried to hold on to his father as tainted hands grabbed him from behind, twisting his arms and forcing him into submission, but it was to no avail. In the end, he just let them take him and his father where they would.

* * *

Thranduil opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he saw was his son, looking at him in an odd mixture of relief and worry.

"Legolas…" he started, but his voice came out hoarse; his throat throbbed too painfully.

A pair of arms – Legolas's, no doubt – tightened their embrace on the elvenking. "Try not to talk, father."

Thranduil wouldn't have it, though. "Where… are we?" he whispered. Why was his head on Legolas's lap and why did he feel so weak and drained?

"Back at the cage," Legolas said ruefully.

_Cage_? Only then did the memories finally catch up with Thranduil. The fight, his transformation, Legolas… and then Khamul.

"How many… guards?" he asked in a weak tone.

"Two," Legolas answered.

"Close?"

Legolas looked up, then returned his gaze to his father. "No."

Thranduil sighed. "He told them… to keep their distance," he noted. He reached a hand to caress his son's face. "I'm sorry."

Legolas, however, smiled. "You tried. I could never blame you for that," he said. "Although I don't understand. How is it possible that you could have taken an Orc's appearance?"

Thranduil sighed and he sat up, his strength returning. "It is a tale that goes a long way back. Are you certain you want to hear it?"

"We are not going anywhere at present," Legolas pointed out with a wry expression on his face.

His son was right, of course. So, as Thranduil let out another sigh, he started telling his story.

"Do you remember what I told you about our heritage?"

Legolas nodded. "Grandfather was related to Elu Thingol, the King of Doriath; he was considered a lord among the Elves there."

"And Elu Thingol, as you know, took Melian as his spouse; a Maia and a lady of immense power and knowledge," Thranduil completed. "Because of her wisdom, the Elves of Doriath learned many things that were unknown to them before. She taught them to read the signs of the sky and the earth in order to work the land properly; she taught them the skill of crafts none had heard of before; and she taught them many things concerning the grace of the Valar. So it was that Doriath grew wealthy, knowledgeable in the old lore, and prosperous.

"But, Legolas… what I'm to tell you now is a secret that very few know about, and I'm the only one alive to tell of it. For, you see, that was not all that Melian did."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, listening to the story practically mesmerized.

Thranduil pursed his lips momentarily, considering how to proceed next, and he picked up the thread of the tale again.

"Elu Thingol was a powerful elf, but he could also be obstinate and careless in his decisions. Melian was aware that, through his carelessness, he would make any enemies as well; enemies that her Girdle wouldn't be able to hold back forever. She wanted Doriath to be prepared, should that kind of misfortune ever come to pass."

"What did she do?"

"It was clear the secrets of growing things and building wouldn't suffice," Thranduil answered. "That was why she selected several Elves that were related to Elu Thingol, known for their own wisdom and strength of will, and she taught them not only to read the signs of the elements, but to manipulate them as well. Dark, light, fire, water, wind, earth… all could be used through a well-trained elf's incantations so that the King of Doriath was protected. And there was more. Because of his training, the elf himself became part of these elements, too. As he gained a better understanding of this world, he also gained power which enabled him to manipulate _anything_ for his purpose. It was almost impossible to defeat such Elves in battle."

"And Oropher? How does he fit in all of this?" Legolas asked, though it was obvious from the look in his eyes that he already suspected the answer.

"He was one of those Elves," Thranduil explained. "And he, in turn, taught me as well. For Melian had also graced Oropher with the gift of foresight, and he knew that I would be faced with dark days before the end of this Age."

"So that Orc guise…"

"Yes. It was just a sample of what I can do."

Legolas lowered his gaze, taking in what Thranduil had just told him. "I knew there was a side of you that you kept secret from me; I could tell by the look you sometimes had in your eyes. Although I have to admit now that I never expected it could be something like this," he said. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Thranduil bowed his head. "To avoid the next question."

"Why couldn't you save Mother or Grandfather?"

_And here it is, _Thranduil thought sadly. "I'm afraid the only answer I can give you is in the form of another question. How come you were taken captive in spite of your warrior skills?"

Legolas remained silent, and Thranduil placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"The knowledge I was handed isn't a miraculous solution to our problems," the elvenking said softly. "It's simply another weapon against Evil, to be used carefully and at only when it was deemed absolutely necessary. That's why Melian didn't only choose to train the bravest warriors, but the wisest as well."

"I understand," Legolas said. "Yet Oropher chose to teach you. How come you didn't teach me?"

"You didn't need to learn," Thranduil answered with a small smile. "When your mother gave birth to you, I looked into your eyes and I saw that the enemies you were to face could be defeated with your courage and wit alone."

"What about that one?" Legolas asked, nodding in the direction of the Orcs. The Wraith could still be seen towering over them, hissing his orders.

Thranduil clenched his jaw. "He is _my _enemy."

* * *

_Thranduil sat up from the muddy ground he was forced to sleep on and he looked around. His Orkish 'comrades' were snoring contently, probably dreaming of the death and destruction they would cause to the Peoples of Middle-earth. It gave him the opportunity to see to his task without being noticed._

_Standing up, he buckled the scimitar and then moved quickly amid the sleeping Orcs. Thankfully, his sharp sight enabled him to see in the darkness of the moonless night, so it wasn't long before he was out of the camp and heading towards the fortress Sauron was in._

_It was far from over, though. Tendrils of cold reached his heart and the hair on his neck bristled as he sensed danger. He quickly took cover behind a cluster of rocks and closed his eyes, waiting. He felt motion, and he picked up the sound of armour clanging as someone walked slowly. Unable to help himself, Thranduil dared a peek through a crack in the cluster of rocks._

_He swallowed hard at the sight before him. He had heard rumours of creatures clothed in black and hiding their faces under a heavy hood, of course. However, Thranduil never expected he would ever see them from up close himself. He shuddered involuntarily, feeling the evil that emanated from them… and the rings that were now bound to Sauron's own. The kings of old who were set to rule vast realms of Men were no more. They were corrupted beyond salvation, serving one master alone, doing his bidding and presently guarding him. How could Thranduil get past them?_

_Finally, as an idea formed in his mind, he picked up a small stone and threw it as far away from him as possible. His ears picked up the soft sound of the stone landing several feet away, and then he sensed the shadows moving in their wish to investigate the nature of the disturbance. Keeping his steps light, he snuck past the wraiths and he continued towards the fortress._

_The cold hand clasping his shoulders stopped Thranduil on his tracks._

"_You're far from your post. What brings you here?"_

_Thranduil tried to keep himself calm, even though the hissing tone made the hair on his neck rise. "I… thought I hear a noise. I merely wanted to investigate," he said._

"_Alone?"_

"_My companions will arrive shortly."_

"_Will they now?" the hiss of a voice said. "State their names."_

_Thranduil felt himself cornered, but he still managed to say a few names at random without pausing. _

_The Wraith let go of Thranduil's shoulder, and he walked in front of the disguised elf to face him. "A quick and good answer. But you have already betrayed yourself by not bowing to someone superior than you, spy."_

_The young prince reacted at once, taking out his scimitar to slay the Wraith. But the Wraith simply stopped the blade with his hands, gripping it so tightly that it got bent out of shape. Aware now that this was a fight that he couldn't win, Thranduil chanted in the elven tongue in the hopes that darkness he created would cover his escape._

_It was of no use. As a creature of the shadow, the Wraith managed to see through Thranduil's deception and he reached out, grabbing the spy from the neck. In the next moment, Thranduil landed against a stone wall with such force that his head almost cracked open. Blood trickled down his face and he was sure at least one of his ribs was broken. Nevertheless, he tried to get up, willing to fight. If he was going to die here and now, it would be fair his death was a good one._

_The Wraith didn't give him that chance as he struck Thranduil on his temple, rendering him unconscious._

* * *

_When Thranduil woke up, he wasn't sure where he was at first. All he knew was that his head and side throbbed painfully, and the sound of water plinking constantly hardly helped matters. He opened his eyes slowly, a low groan escaping his lips, and he cast his gaze in all directions to examine his surroundings. The only thing he saw were rocky walls, a sign that he had been thrown into a hole in the rocky ground._

"_So the fair one awakes," a hiss sounded from high above, magnified in the dark halls._

_Thranduil checked himself, realising what the Wraith meant. He was back to his true appearance._

"_What will you do with me?" Thranduil asked - if they had meant to kill him, they would have done so already. "If you're hoping I'll give you information, then you're sorely mistaken."_

"_We _have _information," the Wraith said. "Your appearance here proves that your kind is becoming desperate. They do not have any hope of defeating my Master's hordes."_

"_That only shows how little you know the Free Peoples," Thranduil retorted defiantly. "They will fight to the end if it means putting an end to your Master's reign."_

"_They will fight to the end, but there will be no victory," the Wraith answered. "But you will live on, regretting your failure."_

_With that, the Wraith slipped away, leaving Thranduil alone. The young prince stood up with a wince, searching for a way to escape his prison and warn his father before it was too late._

* * *

Thranduil still hugged his knees, while his eyes remained closed as he relived the memories that he had pushed in the back of his mind for so long.

"That Wraith who captured you… Is he the same that is keeping us captive now?" Legolas asked, wishing to understand.

Thranduil nodded with a heavy heart.

Legolas blanched. "Then how did you escape?"

"With difficulty," Thranduil said quietly. "The rocks were slippery, and I tore myself more than once as I lost my grip while climbing. But, in the end, I was out."

"Nobody stopped you?"

"Sauron had moved all of his forces from the place. He was more interested in our armies rather than a lone, foolish elf," Thranduil said. "My father actually depended on that."

Legolas's eyes widened. "What are you saying? Oropher knew what was going to happen?"

"I didn't realise it back then, but now I'm sure of it," Thranduil answered. "He wanted Sauron to make the mistake of moving first, but he also wanted me away from the battle so I wouldn't share his fate." He bowed his head. "By the time I ran back at the camp, it was too late. Sauron was defeated, and my people awaited me to take my father's place as their king. Nobody had even questioned where I had been. They simply assumed I had been in battle."

Silence followed, and Thranduil couldn't help but feel worried about his son's reaction now that he knew the whole truth. _How _was he supposed to react? It was all too much.

A pair of arms wrapped around him, and Thranduil looked at his son in surprise. Being comforted was the last thing he had expected.

"You should have told me," Legolas said in a soft tone. "When I thought you were dead, I ended up grieving and frightened, and all I wanted was to die."

"And now?" Thranduil said, resting his forehead against his son's.

Legolas chuckled softly. "Now I fear nothing. You're with me."

That heart-felt declaration was enough to fill Thranduil with hope once again, and his lips tugged to a smile. Perhaps… not all was lost…

TBC...

* * *

A/n: Sindarin translations

_*Law. T__elin le thaed.= No, I've come to your aid_

___**Man le?= Who are you?_

___***__U-si. Trenarathon i narn ned lu thent_. _Boe ammen bedim lim. No cirar. = Not here. I'll tell the tale later. You must come with me. Don't delay._

_____****__U-thelin uthaes. Estelio nin = I mean no harm. Trust me._


	6. The Offer

The next morning found the two elves sleeping in each other's arms, father and son offering comfort to the other. The surrounding trees were quiet but for the gentle rustling of the leaves, the sound lulling the two fair creatures. It was a peaceful hour, and Thranduil and Legolas's souls were calm.

That calmness wasn't meant to last. Cruel claws grasped Thranduil by the shoulder, yanking the older elf away from his son.

"No more rest, elf," Zark said with a malevolent grin. "My master wishes to see you."

"So now he's your master?" Thranduil said.

It was a gesture of defiance that earned the elvenking a cuff on his cheek.

"Father!" Legolas jumped on his feet to defend Thranduil, but he was greeted by the blade of another Orc's scimitar.

"Try anything else and I'll slit your throat," the Orc growled.

Legolas clenched his jaw and curled his right hand into a fist. If he punched quickly and hard enough, the Orc would fall unconscious on the ground before he even blinked.

"Legolas, no."

The elven prince stared at his father incredulously. No?

"No," Thranduil repeated. "It's not the right time."

Zark cackled. "That is simply too rich," he said, looking at the two elves contemptuously. "Will you listen to your father's orders if I do this?"

In the next moment and before Thranduil could react, Zark hit the older elf on the stomach at full force. A groan of pain rushed out of the elvenking's lips, and it took sheer will alone not to fall on his knees right there and then.

Legolas stared at the scene, aghast; but Thranduil managed to give him a warning look. They weren't about to stoop to their level and play their game.

That was something that didn't please Zark in the least. Scowling, he nodded in his fellow Orc's direction and then dragged the elvenking away. Thranduil tried to ignore the sound of a fist that fell on his son's face. When he heard a second and third one, though, he couldn't help it. He glared at Zark.

"I'm going to kill you before this is over. Remember that."

"Save your threats for those who actually care," Zark replied with a scoff. "Now come on. We shouldn't keep my Master waiting."

Thranduil followed, not having much choice in the matter. It didn't take them long to reach the Lieutenant anyway. The Wraith was sitting in a chair especially wrought for him, his gauntlet-covered hands resting on the spiky arms. His cloak bristled in the gentle wind – an image of lingering darkness, waiting to strike. To say Thranduil was abhorred would have been an understatement.

"Here he is, my Lord," Zark said, bowing in respect, although Thranduil knew that it was simply a gesture done out of fear. "Is there anything you would wish from your humble servant?"

"Leave us," the Wraith replied.

Zark didn't expect that, if his widened eyes were any indication. Nevertheless, he bowed and left, leaving his master and the elf alone.

"Do you know why you're here?" the Wraith asked with a hiss.

Thranduil looked at the demon of his past defiantly. "Whatever it is you want to do, do it quickly. I'm no stranger to pain."

"Pain? No," the Wraith said. "It is no pain that I wish from you."

"Then what is it?" Thranduil asked. He didn't like where this was going.

"Lord Sauron knows a great opportunity when he sees one," the wraith replied. "He remembers you and so do I. You have great power in your fingertips, elf; a kind of power that could only be handed to you by a Maia."

Thranduil said nothing.

"It is also a great power that is currently wasted," the Wraith continued on. "Why use it on something as futile as postponing Sauron's inevitable reign, when you could rule alongside him? A valuable ally in the Age of Darkness?"

"Why should I join the ones who were responsible for my father's death?" Thranduil asked.

"Yes… your father died. A foolish elf, who thought he could be my match in battle."

The words cut through Thranduil's heart like a knife. "You killed him?" he breathed out.

The Wraith nodded slowly. "And he wasn't the only one," he said. "How many died, elf? Do you remember?"

Thranduil averted his gaze and refused to answer.

"You don't have to share your father's fate. Your people don't have to fall with the other unfortunate races that will dare defy us," the Wraith insisted. "Is it not a king's duty to think of the good of his people?"

"It is," Thranduil answered. "Just as it is a king's duty to make sure that the sacrifices of those before him weren't made in vain." He stood tall, looking proudly at Khamul. "I'd rather die, knowing that I did my duty, rather than live and become everything I've hated all my life."

The Wraith stood up, a hand closing around Thranduil's neck in a heartbeat. The elvenking winced at the relentless pressure on his throat, but he didn't fight back. This was the time to prove his worth as his father's son.

"Then your kingdom will fall, and your people will be slaughtered to the ground."

"It's a welcome end," Thranduil whispered.

The Wraith snorted and threw the elvenking at a tree. Thranduil cried out at the impact, and then landed with a sickening thud on the ground, his head throbbing painfully.

"Zark! Take him away!"

"Of course, Master," Zark said, and Thranduil felt the relentless claws gripping his shoulders once more in the next moment. He followed, unable to help it as he was still dizzy; he didn't even have enough strength to fight back as Zark threw him back into the cage.

"Father!"

Thranduil sat up and looked at his son. Two large bruises marred the handsome face, and the elvenking noticed how protectively Legolas held his stomach.

"I will heal," Legolas said, answering Thranduil's worried look. "What did the Wraith want of you?"

Thranduil sighed. "My allegiance."

Legolas mouthed a small 'oh'. "I suppose I don't have to guess your answer."

The elvenking's look said everything.

"Are they going to kill us now?" Legolas asked.

"If only," Thranduil answered. "I fear that it is a sort of luxury that we'll have to take for ourselves."

Legolas paled. "Will it be quick?"

Thranduil shook his head, and Legolas closed his eyes in a pained manner.

"I know what I ask," the elvenking said, taking his son's hand in his. "You're young and the fire of life still burns strongly in you. It's difficult to wish yourself away."

"And yet it's not the end," Legolas answered bravely. "I'd rather I didn't die in the torture chamber… or worse." He shivered violently.

"You won't," Thranduil promised, and he wrapped his arms around his son.

It was then that he saw it: a large black wolf, moving amid the foliage at the edge of the camp and sniffing the air. But when he saw another one, also black but for a small tuft of white on the chest, following the first one, Thranduil realised that he wasn't looking at wolves at all.

"We are not alone," Thranduil breathed out.

Legolas pulled back, not really understanding. Thranduil nodded in the direction of the dogs, and the younger elf looked around.

"Alachas? Corhuinu?" he whispered, recognising the two hounds.

Thranduil nodded. "They tracked us down."

"But if they are here," Legolas murmured in a frown, "Then that means…"

The words barely left his lips when the sound of arrows flying in the air filled the camp. Cries of pain and dismay followed, and the two elves watched on as the Orcs started running hither and thither in an almost panicked state. Exchanging a glance, both father and son nodded at each other and then approached the bars of their cage. Thranduil grabbed the first Ork who was foolish enough to pass too close to them, chocking him, and Legolas grabbed the sword from the creature's scabbard.

Thranduil let go of the unconscious Ork as it was a foul thing, and then faced his son.

"Ready?" he asked.

Legolas nodded, and that was enough as an answer. On the count of three, both elves threw themselves on the door, breaking it off its hinges.

"Come on," Thranduil said.

Legolas complied obediently, keeping his eyes open in case they were attacked. None of the Orcs seemed to notice that they were free, though; they had troubles of their own. That is, until they came across Zark. The Orc leader let out a great cry and unsheathed Thranduil's sword from his scabbard, but it was too late. Legolas had run his own scimitar through the Orkish armour and ended the miserable creature's life in a blink of an eye.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "I had a score to settle with him," he said.

"I had one first. Besides," Legolas said, picking up the sword from the dead Orc's hands and giving it back to its rightful owner. "Your score with the Wraith is more important."

Thranduil had to admit that he hadn't expected that. "Will you be all right on your own?"

Legolas nodded. "Go."

Thranduil smiled at him, and then turned on his heel and hurried to the centre of the campsite. He knew that the wraith would be there, preparing himself for battle. If anything, the servants of the enemy knew how to bid their time in order to strike when it was least expected. And Eregdos – for Thranduil was sure his seneschal was leading the assault – couldn't possibly know about the wraith. If Khamul unleashed his power, the rescue operation would end in bloodshed. That was something the elvenking couldn't possibly allow, even if he paid it with his own life.

Just as Thranduil had suspected, Khamul was buckling his sword, ready to deal with the insolent elves who dared test his patience. He had his back turned to the elvenking, giving the impression that he didn't acknowledge the elf's presence. Yet Thranduil knew that that wasn't true.

"So… you have come to seek your revenge," the Wraith said. "Once a fool, always a fool."

"I'm not the young elf you daunted back then," Thranduil said.

"We shall see," Khamul answered, unsheathing his sword in a challenging manner, and the king and the shadow locked themselves in fierce combat.

* * *

"Leithio i philinn!" Edrahil cried.

About twenty arrows were unleashed, sending more Orcs to their deaths. Meanwhile, Eregdos was leading about ten Elves to the centre of the campsite, hacking every foul creature that stood on their path, so that they could reach their king.

"Sire!" the seneschal shouted, trying to make himself heard above the commotion. "Lord Thranduil!"

A terrible roar sounded to his left, almost startling him, but the Orc fell dead before he could run his sword through the elf. Legolas had ended the Orc's life first.

"My prince!" Eregdos exclaimed, his eyes wide in surprise. "You're alive!"

"I am, and so is my father," Legolas replied. "Yet he needs help."

"Where is he?" the seneschal asked.

"This way," the elven prince said and he beckoned Eregdos to follow him. "Hurry!"

* * *

Thranduil was thrown aside like a ragdoll, but the elvenking had braced himself for the impact and it didn't hurt that much. He chanted softly under his breath and great vines sprang from the earth to grip the Wraith tightly. Yet Wraiths were embodiments of death, and the vines quickly withered under his touch.

Thranduil winced inwardly, and then evaded Khamul's black breath; the foul breath that all Wraiths exhaled on their adversaries. Crying out, he attacked again, but his sword only clashed with the Wraith's.

"You fool. You truly believed that you could defeat me?" Khamul said, his scorn audible even in his hissing tone. "I'm the servant of everyone's rightful master. You have no power here."

"As you said, you're just the servant!" Thranduil spat, keeping his movements swift and elegant despite the brutality of the battle.

But for all his brave words, Thranduil knew that Khamul was powerful, and he had to find another way if he wanted him defeated. Their swords clashed again, sparks flying at the force of the impact; and the idea finally crossed Thranduil's mind. Jumping back before Khamul could lay his sword on him, the elvenking struck his blade against a rock and murmured another incantation.

The great blaze of fire that sprang from the tiny sparks lasted mere moments, but it was enough. Khamul screeched as the crimson tongues enveloped him. Wincing at the terrible sound that filled the air, Thranduil stepped back and watched the wraith getting consumed in flames.

"Adar!" Legolas ran at the elvenking's side worriedly, but Thranduil raised his hand. He didn't want his son to come any closer, not when that thing was still there.

Finally the screech died out, and the red tongues consumed what remained of the black robes, leaving nothing but ashes behind. The surviving Orcs instantly fled at the sigh, frightened that they were no longer dealing with mere elves, but forces of nature. Thranduil certainly didn't mind seeing the last of them.

"Did you kill him?" Legolas asked, his gaze still locked on the pitiable sight of crumbling dust that once was the wraith.

"If only it were that easy," Thranduil said in a soft tone. "Darkness always has a way of coming back."

"But we'll be prepared for it, won't we?"

Thranduil looked at his son in surprise, and then a small smile brightened his face.

"Yes, we will." Sheathing his sword back in place, he patted his son on the shoulder. "Let us go. I do have something to discuss with my healer and my seneschal, after all." With that, he looked meaningfully at Edrahil and Eregdos's direction.

"With all due respect, Sire, we did follow your orders," Edrahil said, a mischievous expression on his features. "You did say we were to lead in your stead while you were gone."

"And you considered it wise that your first matter of business was to retrieve your king?"

"We don't regret it," Eregdos replied. "An elf who is willing to do anything to protect his son will also do anything to protect his people in the dark days that are destined to come. You are the best leader we could hope for."

"And we're ready to follow you to the end, if that's what fate holds for us; we aren't abandoning you now nor ever."

Thranduil felt his eyes widening at such a heartfelt declaration. In the end, he shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he smiled fondly.

"Understood. Now let's return home."

It was an order that everyone welcomed.

**To Be Concluded...**


	7. Epilogue

A few days later, the encounter with the Orcs and Khamul was a thing of the past. Life in the elven realm of Mirkwood had returned to its usual routine, under Thranduil's wise rule. Even so, the morale of the elves had changed. The elvenking's bravery as he ventured forth to save his son had filled their hearts with admiration and awe, and the despair that had numbed them as they saw the darkness closing in around them had vanished into thin air. Now, if the enemy reached the very doorsteps of their homes, they would be prepared for it.

Though that was something that Thranduil welcomed, he'd rather his people never had to do that kind of thing - not on their own, at least. That was why he decided to allow Legolas to ride to Imladris and speak with Master Elrond. In fact, he had already contacted the half-elf with a travelling pigeon, and his old friend had assured him that Legolas would be more than welcome to the Great House of Healing.

For now, though, what Thranduil truly wanted to do was spend some time with Legolas. After believing that he'd never see his son again, he hardly left him out of his sight. Besides, they still had a lot to talk about now that the elvenking had unlocked the secret that had gnawed at his heart since the beginning of this Age.

That was why, after dealing with the paperwork that had occupied his office, Thranduil decided to look for his son. He knew that Legolas would be in the forest; he seemed to be spending a lot of time there lately. Thranduil wasn't sure why that was, but, today, he got his answer. Legolas was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the clearing, his ears pricked up as if trying to listen to something.

"Legolas?"

Legolas faced his father, a sigh flowing out of his lips. "I tried to listen to the trees, the way you do. But I suppose it's too late for that."

"It's not a matter of skill," Thranduil said with a smile. "But to know what to listen for."

"Will you teach me then?"

"If that is what you want," Thranduil said.

Legolas smiled at that, and he got back on his feet to hold Thranduil in a tight embrace. "Thank you, father."

Thranduil returned the embrace just as tightly, as if afraid someone would take his son away from him. However, a gentle breeze in the air reminded him that he shouldn't lose hope. Though the worst hadn't come to pass as of yet, the elvenking would be prepared for it, and so would his son.

I'll remember, father, Thranduil thought. Thank you.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Oropher was smiling broadly.

**The End**


End file.
